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THE  SELF-TORMENTOR 

[HEAUTONTIMORUMENOSJ 

FROM    THE    LATIN    OF 

PUBLIUS  TERENTIUS  AFER. 

WITH   MORE 

ENGLISH  SONGS 


FROM 


FOREIGN    TONGUES 


Frederick   W.    Ricord, 

Author  of  "  English  Songs  from  Foreign   Tongues. 


New  York: 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS, 

743  and  745  Broadway. 

1885. 


f 


L.    J.    HARDHAM,    PRINTER,    NEWARK,   N.  J. 


TO 

MY  MOTHER'S  MEMORY. 


INTRODUCTION. 


IT  IS  a  remarkable  fact  that  although  the  Comedies  of  Terence  are  mines 
whence  Latin  lexicographers  and  school  book  makers  take  specimens  of 
elegant  Latinity.  and  although  the  abbreviation  of  the  poet's  name,  Ter,  is 
familiar  to  the  eye  of  every  schoolboy  who  has  studied  a  Latin  Grammar  or 
searched  with  any  care  through  a  Latin  Dictionary,  still  comparatively  few 
of  the  graduates  of  our  colleges  have  ever  read  a  word  of  the  famous  poet 
who  was  the  idol  of  his  own  times  and  who,  of  all  the  Latin  writers,  was 
most  admired  and  most  closely  studied  by  the  scholars  of  the  15th,  i6th  and 
17th  centuries.  In  fact,  no  scholar,  during  that  period,  seemed  to  make  any 
pretensions  to  the  name  until  he  had  given  printed  evidence  to  the  world 
that  he  had  made  critical  study  of  the  Comedies  of  Terence.  The  learned 
Philip  Melanchthon,  in  the  Latin  Preface  to  his  edition  of  Terence  says, 
"  Terence,  without  doubt,  surpasses  all  others  in  purity  of  language,  which 
virtue  in  discourse  is,  beyond  all  doubt,  the  most  important ;  *  *  *  * 
I  shall  not  regret  my  labor,  if  thereby  I  shall  make  others  love  Terence 
more  ;  *  *  *  *  j  exhort  all  teachers  to  advise  the  young  to  study  this 
author  with  great  attention."  Erasmus  also  held  the  writings  of  Terence 
in  high  esteem.  In  the  dedication  of  his  edition  of  Terence,  which,  together 
with  his  Commentaries^  is  written  in  Latin,  he  says  :  "  From  no  other  writer 
can  the  Roman  tongue  be  learned  with  greater  purity,  nor  is  there  any 
writer  more  delightful  to  the  reader  or  more  suitable  for  the  young." 

The  great  value  set  upon  the  works  of  Terence  is  shown  by  the  fact  that 
they  were  among  the  first  of  the  ancient  classic  writings  given  to  the  world 
by  means  of  the  printing  press.  The  precise  year  in  which  the  first  edition 
was  printed  is  not  known.  The  earliest  of  which  we  have  any  account  is 
said  to  have  appeared  in  1469,  only  twenty  years  after  the  completion  of  the 


jy  INTRODUCTION. 

art  of  printing.     The  only  copy  of  this  edition  known  to  be  in  existence  was 
purchased  at  a  sale  of  books  in  1792  for  1.160  livres.     Other  editions  ap- 
peared in  rapid  succession  after  that  time  in  the  cities  of  Milan,  Venice, 
Rome,  Frankfort,   Strasbourg,   Antwerp,   Paris,    London,  and   wherever  a 
printing  press  had  been  erected  ;  and  then,  year  after  year,  they  multiplied 
until,  in  the  year   1724,  the  various  editions  numbered  248,  each  edition 
edited  by  some  scholar  and  replete  with  notes  and  commentaries  written  in 
the  Latin  tongue.     Among  the  most  valuable  that  are  still  to  be  found  (and 
nearly  all   are  very   rare)  are  those  of   Melanchthon,  Erasmus,  Scaliger, 
Faernus,  Lindenbrog,  Dacier,  Bentley  and  Westerhovius,  the  last  being  in 
two  quarto  volumes  of  more  than  800  pages  each,  and  containing  the  Latin 
commentaries  of   Donatus,  the  learned  instructor  of  St.  Jerome,  also  the 
notes  of  Calphurnius.  Eugraphius,  and  other  early  annotators.     Many  of  the 
editions  of  Terence  are  very  curious,  as  well  for  learned  discussions  in  re- 
gard to  the  meaning  of  various  passages  in  the  author's  works,  as  for  the 
gradual  improvements  which  they  show  in  the  art  of  printing.     The  trans- 
lator of  this  play  has,  in  his  collection  of  different  editions  of  Terence,  a  copy 
of  the  edition  published  in  Strasbourg  in  1499  by  John  Gruninger.     It  is  a 
folio   volume  of   341    pages,  with  a  frontispiece  representing  the  ancient 
Roman  stage.     Each  play  is  preceded   by  an  illustration,  in  which  all  the 
characters  of  the  play  are  grouped,  and  the  relations  existing  between  them 
indicated  by  straight  or  tortuous  lines   passing  (according  to  the  nature  of 
the  relation)  from  one  to  another.     Every  scene  is  introduced  by  a  picture 
in  which  the  actors  in  such  scene  are  represented,  each  with  his  name  on  a 
scroll  above  his  head.     The  pictures  are  printed  from  movable  blocks,  and 
the  effects  produced  by  their  various  transpositions  are  often  very  ludicrous. 
Not  only  are  both  margins,  as  well  as  the  foot  of  the  page,  covered  with 
notes  and  comments,  but  interpretations  and  synonyms  are  printed  in  small 
characters  between  the  lines  of  the  text ;  and,  w^hat  adds  interest  to  the 
book,  hundreds  of  annotations  have  been  written  throughout  it  in  Latin  by 
some  scholar  of  the  i6th  or   17th  century,  possibly  Melanchthon.  Erasmus, 
or  Scaliger. 

The  reader  of  tlie  present  play  will  be  inclined  to  condemn  as  unnatural 


INTRODUCTION.  V 

and  improbable  the  introduction  of  two  persons  at  the  same  time,  upon  the 
stage,  each  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  the  other ;  or  he  may  pronounce 
as  absurd  the  representation  of  persons  calling  at  one  another's  houses,  or 
speaking  of  others  plainly  to  be  seen  by  the  audience  upon  the  stage,  and 
yet  so  far  off  as  not  to  overhear  what  is  said ;  but  this  will  be  readily 
accounted  for  when  it  is  understood  that  the  ancient  theatre  had  the  sky 
for  a  roof,  and  that  eight  of  our  modern  city  buildings  might  have  been 
erected  upon  it  with  their  fronts  to  the  audience.  With  such  a  stage,  houses, 
streets  and  gardens  were  not  impossible  ;  and  for  one  actor  to  speak  apart 
from  another  and  not  be  heard  by  him  was  a  matter  of  fact  and  not  a  mere 
pretence.  But  with  an  auditorium  proportioned  to  such  a  stage,  it  was 
highly  important  that  the  voices,  features  and  stature  of  the  actors  should 
be  in  keeping.  To  this  end,  they  wore  buskins  to  increase  their  height  and 
enormous  masks  to  give  them  an  unmistakable  countenance;  and  these  masks, 
which  inclosed  the  whole  head,  were  so  contrived  as  to  throw  out  the  voice 
to  a  great  distance.  The  fact  that  they  were  called  persona,  from  the  Latin 
word  persofiare,  meaning  to  sotind  through,  indicates  their  principal  use. 

The  scene  of  the  present  play  is  laid  in  a  hamlet  near  Athens.  The  play 
itself,  as  the  author  tells  us  in  the  Prologue,  is  drawn  from  the  Greek  of 
Menander,  a  distinguished  writer  of  comedy,  who  was  born  at  Athens  B.  C. 
342  ;  and  who,  as  we  are  told,  was  the  author  of  a  hundred  and  eight  come- 
dies, of  which  only  a  few  fragments  now  remain.  "  Heautontimorumenos," 
(EavTOVTi/XGOCfovjuevo?)  which  means,  literally,  "Taking  Vengeance 
on  One's  Self,"  is  the  name  given  to  the  play  composed  by  Menander;  and 
Terence  finding  it  more  euphonious  than  its  Latin  synonym,  gave  it  to  his 
own.  It  is  descriptive  of  one  of  the  principal  characters,  who  inflicts  upon 
himself  severe  trials  as  a  punishment  for  having  driven  his  only  son  from 
home  on  account  of  fancied  misbehavior.  It  was  first  acted  in  the  Megale- 
sian  Games,  on  which  occasion  St.  Augustine  tells  us  that  when  Chremes 
uttered  the  words  in  the  twenty-fifth  line  of  Scene  ist,  Act  ist:  •'  Hotno 
sum,  humani  fiiJiil  a  me  alz'enum  puio,"  the  whole  audience,  though  com- 
posed of  persons  of  every  class,  arose  and  made  the  theatre  resound  with 
their  applause.     This  passage  is  quoted  by  Cicero  in  his  "  De  Officus"  and 


yj  INTRODUCTION. 

Seneca,  too,  quotes  it  in  his  Epistola  XCV  :  ''  Iste  versus,  et  in  pectore  et  in 
ore  sit :  Homo  su7n,  huinani  nihil  a  me  alienum  piito."  Many  of  the  say- 
ings of  Terence  are  household  words,  handed  down  from  century  to  century 
in  various  forms,  with  scarcely  a  thought  as  to  their  origin. 

Suetonius,  a  distinguished  Roman  historian  who  lived  during  the  ist 
century,  is  said  to  have  written  a  biography  of  our  poet,  in  which  we  are 
told  that  Publius  Terentius  Afer  was  born  in  Carthage  (about  193  B.  C.)  ' 
that  he  was  a  slave  of  Terentius  Lucanus,  a  Roman  Senator,  who  not  only 
gave  him  a  liberal  education,  but  his  freedom,  also,  at  an  early  age.  How 
he  became  a  slave,  whether  by  birth  or  by  the  chances  of  war,  is  not  known, 
but  on  being  made  free  he  assumed  the  name  of  his  master,  to  which  was 
added  that  of  Afer  (the  African)  on  account  of  being  born  in  Carthage. 

The  six  comedies  which  have  survived  him  were  all  acted  in  Rome  under 
his  own  supervision,  and  must,  therefore,  have  been  written  before  he 
reached  his  thirty-fifth  year,  at  which  age  he  left  Rome  on  a  visit  to  Athens, 
whence  he  never  returned. 

Concerning  the  sojourn  of  Terence  in  Athens  but  very  little  is  known.  It 
is  said  that  he  there  accomplished  a  vast  amount  of  work,  and  was  on  his 
way  home  by  sea  with  more  than  a  hundred  plays  which  he  had  written, 
when,  as  has  been  already  said,  a  storm  arose,  and  he  and  all  his  treasures 
perished.  But  the  story  of  his  dying  at  sea  is  somewhat  doubtful.  Eusebius 
says  that  he  died  in  Arcadia,  and  others  add  that  it  was  from  a  broken  heart 
caused  by  the  loss  of  all  his  manuscripts. 

Of  all  the  Roman  dramatic  poets  his  works  alone,  with  those  of  Plautus, 
have  come  down  to  us.  His  plays  are  not  only  remarkable  for  the  purity 
of  their  diction,  but,  as  well,  for  their  elegance  and  refinement.  Besides  being 
a  man  of  culture  and  learning,  he  had  been  brought  up  in  the  most  refined 
society  of  Rome.  From  boyhood  he  was  a  most  welcome  guest  among 
the  families  of  the  Palatine,  petted,  in  fact,  by  the  proud  Roman  matrons 
and  their  accomplished  daughters,  in  whose  eyes  he  was  one  of  the  hand- 
somest of  men,  and  in  whose  judgment  he  was,  by  reason  of  his  wit  and 
grace,  one  of  the  most  charming  of  companions. 

The  author  of  the  present  translation,  on  entering  upon  his  work,  believed 


INTRODUCTION^  vii 

that  he  could  exemplify  in  rhyme  better  than  in  blank  verse  the  language  of 
the  play  which  preserves  a  happy  mean  between  the  sublimity  of  Tragedy 
and  the  lowness  of  Farce.  And  he,  moreover,  believed  that  in  imitating  the 
various  and  ever-alternating  Latin  meters  and  different  kinds  of  verse  by 
means  of  English  meters  and  verse  corresponding,  at  least,  in  name,  he 
would  in  some  degree  prevent  monotony  and  enliven,  as  was,  doubtless,  the 
great  poet's  object.  The  work  has  been  one  of  love  alone ;  and  in  the 
words  of  Melanchthon  already  quoted,  he  would  say :  "  I  shall  not  regret 
mv  labor  if  thereby  I  shall  make  others  love  Terence  more." 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

THE    SELF-TORMENTOR. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  TERENCE. 

PAGE. 

INTRODUCTION,     --------  iii 

DRAMATIS    PERSONy^E,         -------  15 

EPITOME   OF    C.    SULPICIUS,                      .           ....  16 

PROLOGUE,         -           -           .            .                      ..           _           .           -  18 

ACT    I, -  22 

ACT   II,       ----------  38 

ACT   III, -           -           -  58 

ACT    IV,      -----------  96 

ACT   V,             .--_.-----  112 

II. 

FAMILIAR    TALES. 

ROLAND,  THE    SHIELD-BEARER,  -  -  -  -  -      I4I 

From  the  German  of  Ukland. 
ROLAND    AND   OLIVER,  -  -----  149 

From  the  French  of  Victor  Hugo. 


X  Contents. 

PAGE. 

PYRAMUS   AND   THISBE, -  155 

From  the  Latin  of  Ovid.  j 

PHILEMON   AND   BAUCIS,           -           -           -           -           -           -  l6o        | 

From  the  Latin  of  Ovid.  -H 

THE   WHEEL   OF   HEUSDEN,         ------  164       'jjj 

From  the  Dutch  of  Bilderdijk. 

HANS   GROVENDRAAD,        -        -  -  -  -  -  -  173 

Fro7n  the  Flemish  of  Van  Rysxvitk. 
ARION,  _.--------       181 

From  the  German  of  Schlegcl. 
DAMON    AND    PYTHIAS,  -  -----  188 

From  the  Gertnan  of  Schiller. 

FRANCESCA   DA   RIMINI,         -        - -      I94 

From  the  Italian  of  Dante. 

III. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

HANS    AND    VERENE,         -------  20I 

From  the  Alemannic  of  Hebel. 
GUARDIAN   ANGELS,  -  ...---      204 

From  the  Danish  of  Ingemann, 
grandmother's   PORTRAIT,  -  -  -  -  -  2o6 

From  the  Flemish  of  Loveling. 
MY   GENTLE   FRIEND,  --...--      207 

From  the  Portuguese  of  Camoens. 

THE    watchman's    CRY, -  208 

From  the  Alem-annic  of  h  e^el. 

TO    THE    MORKERLA,  -  -  -  -  -  -  -      2IO 

From  the  Swabian  of  Scheifele. 
WHAT   GOES   ON   IN   THE   BOSOM,  .  .  -  -  212 

Fro77i  the  Flemish  of  Verhulst. 
TYCHO    BRAHE'S   FAREWELL,      --.---      213 

From  the  Danish  of  Heiberg. 


Contents.  xi 

PAGE. 

FORTUNE   AND    TIME, 215 

From  the  German  of  Knortz. 

DE   TEMPORUM    MUTABILITATE, 2l6 

From  the  Latin  cf  Seneca. 

ROSES   AND    THORNS,        - 217 

From  the  German  of  Bodenstedt. 
EPITAPH    ON   WILLIAM    LANGEY,  -  .  -  -  -      2l8 

From  the  Latin  of  Deza . 
LEARNED   IGNORANCE,      219 

From  the  Latin  of  Grotitis. 
TO    M.    LOUIS    RACINE,  - 220 

From  the  French  of  Voltaire. 

EQUALIZING   ALL   THINGS, 221 

From  the  German  of  Bodenstedt . 
THE   BUTTERFLY   AND   THE   BEE,  -  .  _  .      222 

From,  the  German  of  Reinbeck. 

THE   SWAN   AND   THE   SPARROW, 223 

From  the  German  of  Klenert. 
SOLOMON   AND   THE   SOWER,      ------      224 

From,  the  German  of  Ruckert. 
IDLENESS,         ------..-  225 

From  the  French  of  Voltaire. 
AN   ANGEL,  -  - 226 

From  the  Flemizh  of  Peelers. 
DISAPPOINTMENT,  -  ---..-_  228 

From  the  Portuguese  of  Garrett. 

SOLOMON,  THE   POET   KING,        - 230 

From,  the  Flemish  of  Vuylsteke . 

WHAT   WOULDST   THOU    MORE? 23 1 

From  the  German  of  Heine. 

HYMN   TO    LOVE, 232 

From  the  Spanish  of  Lope  de  Vega. 

"  TO    MEET   AGAIN  !  "        -  - 233 

From  the  German  of  Feuchtersleben. 


I. 

THE    SELF-TORMENTOR, 

From  the  Latin  of  Terence 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


Chremes — Father  of  Clitiplio  and  Antiphila. 

Clitipho — Son  of  Chremes. 

Menedeinus — Father  of  Clinia. 

Clinia — Son  of  Menedemus. 

Sostrata — Wife  of  Chremes. 

Antiphila — Daughter  of  Chremes  and  Sostrata,  and  beloved  by  CUnia. 

Bacchis — A  courtesan  and  friend  of  Clitipho. 

Nurse — Of  Antiphila. 

Phrygia — Maid  servant  of  Bacchis. 

Syrus — Servant  of  Clitipho. 

Dromo — Servant  of  Clinia. 

Scene,     A  village  near  Athens. 


THE  EPITOME 


C.    SULPICIUS    APOLLINARIS. 


Young  Clinia,  for  Antiphila  with  love  on  fire, 

Is  sent  to  foreign  wars  by  his  offended  sire, 

Who  then  afflicts  himself,  repenting  sore  his  act. 

The  son  returns,  but  from  his  father  hides  the  fact, 

And  lives  with  Clitipho,who  lech'rous  Bacchis  woos. 

Now  Clinia  bids  Antiphila  to  come.     By  ruse. 

Comes  Bacchis,  as  Antiphila ;  in  slave's  attire 

Antiphila  upon  her  waits,  which,  from  his  sire. 

Young  Clitipho  conceals.     Through  schemes  by  Syrus  laid, 

Ten  minas,  by  the  father,  are  to  Bacchis  paid. 

Antiphila,  to  Clitipho,  is  sister  found ; 

To  Clinia  she,  to  him  a  maid,  for  life,  are  bound. 


C.  SULPICI  APOLLINARIS. 


PERIOCHA. 


In  militiam  proficisci  gnatum  Cliniam 
Amantem  Antiphilam  compulit  durus  paler, 
Animique  sese  angebat  facti  paenitens. 
Mox  ut  reversu'st,  clam  patrem  divertitur 
Ad  Clitiphonem  ;  is  amabat  scortum  Bacchidem. 
Gum  arcesseret  cupitam  Antiphilam  Clinia, 
Ut  ejus  Bacchis  venit  amica  ac  servolae 
Habitum  gerens  Antiphila ;  factum  id  quo  patrem 
Suum  celaret  Clitiplio :  hie  technis  Syri 
Decem  minas  meretriculae  aufert  a  sene. 
Antiphila  Clitiphonis  reperitur  soror : 
Hanc  Clinia,  aliam  Clitipho  uxorem  accipit. 


PROLOGUE. 

Lest,  friends,  you  be  surprised  lo  find  a  man  so  old 
Selected  for  a  part  some  youth  might  rather  hold, 
I  will  at  first  explain,  and  then  my  message  speak. 

A  comedy  it  is,  drawn  from  a  play  in  Greek, 
That  I'm  about  to  act,  the  Self- Tormentor  named  ; 
Which  from  a  single,  to  a  double  plot  is  framed. 
Its  novelties  you'll  see.     Who  wrote  the  same,  as  well 
As  whose  it  is  in  Greek,  I  certainly  would  tell. 
Did  I  not  think  that  most  of  you  already  know. 
But  why  I  take  this  part,  first  let  me  show. 
As  advocate  I'm  sent,  not  prologue  speaker,  friends  ; 
You  are  the  judges  here,  I  who  the  bard  defends  ; 
But  I,  as  pleader,  can  by  eloquence  succeed 
So  far  alone  as  means  are  furnish'd  me  to  plead. 
By  him  who  wrote  the  speech  which  fain  I'd  now  recite. 

Concerning  tales  wide-spread  through  jealousy  and  spite, 
That  Grecian  plays  he  blends,  attempting  to  devise, 
Of  Latin  only  few,  he  not  at  all  denies, 
Nor  e'en  repents,  but  means  such  labors  to  pursue. 
Examples  of  good  writers  has  he  not  a  few  : 
And  doing  what  they  do,  he  thinks  is  no  offense. 

Wherein  an  old  and  envious  poet  makes  pretence 
That  Terence,  all  at  once,  himself  to  verse  applied, 
And  more  on  friendly  aid  than  on  himself  relied. 
Your  judgement  shall  be  form'd ;  and  be  it  what  it  may, 
It  shall  prevail ;  and  all  of  you,  I  therefore  pray, 


PROLOGUS. 

Ne  cui  sit  vestrum  mirum,  cur  partis  seni 

Poeta  dederit,  quae  sunt  adolescentium  : 

Id  primum  dicam :   deindc  quod  veni  eloquar. 

Ex  integra  Graeca  integram  comediain 

Hodie  sum  acturus  Heauton  timorumenon. 

Duplex  quae  ex  argumento  facta  est  simplici. 

Novam  esse  ostendi  et  quae  esset ;  nunc  qui  scripserit, 

Et  cuja  Graeca  sit,  ni  partem  maximam 

Existimarem  scire  vostrum,  id  dicerem. 

Nunc  quamobrem  has  partis  didicerim  paucis  dabo. 

Oratorem  esse  voluit  me,  non  prologum  ; 

Vestrum  judicium  fecit ;  me  actorem  dedit ; 

Sed  hie  actor  tantum  potent  a  facundia, 

Quantum  ille  potuit  cogitare  commode, 

Qui  orationem  hanc  scripsit,  quam  dicturus  sum. 

Nam  quod  rumores  distulerunt  malevoH, 

Multas  contaminasse  Graecas,  dum  facit 

Paucas  Latinas ;  factum  id  esse  hie  non  negat, 

Neque  se  pigere  et  deinde  facturum  autumat. 

Habet  bonorum  exemplum,  quo  exemplo  sibi 

Licere  id  facere  quod  iUi  fecerunt  putat. 

Turn  quod  malevolus  vetus  poeta  dictitat, 

Repente  ad  studium  hunc  se  applicasse  musicum, 

Amicum  ingenio  fretum,  hand  natura  sua ; 

Arbitrum  vestrum,  vestra  existimatio 

Valebit ;  quare  oratos  vos  omnis  volo. 


20  Prologue. 

To  let  no  hostile  speech,  a  friendly  one  o'er-ride. 

Just  judgement  render,  too,  and  every  means  provide 

For  those  who,  with  new  plays,  -would  make  you  well  content ; 

Not  poor  ones  though,  lest  he  should  think  himself  here  meant, 

Who,  in  a  recent  piece,  allowed  a  slave  to  chase 

Free  people  from  the  street.     Shall  Terence  show  him  grace  ? 

More  of  his  sins  you'll  know  should  he  e'er  undertake 

New  plays  to  write,  unless  an  end  to  slurs  he  make. 

Give  me  unbiased  hearing ;  favor  me,  I  pray, 
With  silence  requisite  to  act  this  quiet  play, 
So  that  tRe  aged  man  of  wrath,  the  busy  slave. 
The  all-consuming  parasite,  the  shameless  knave, 
The  avaricious  pimp,  I  need  not  e'er  sustain 
As  roles  with  bursting  throat  and  labors  full  of  pain. 
For  my  sake,  let  this  plea  as  honest  be  received. 
And  from  such  great  fatigue,  pray,  let  me  be  relieved, 
For  they  who  write  new  plays,  spare  not  at  all  my  age, 
And  when  the  work  is  hard  my  services  engage. 
But  when  'tis  otherwise,  to  other  troops  apply. 

The  language  of  this  piece  is  pure.     My  powers  try, 
Good  Friends,  in  this  as  well  as  in  a  noisy  part. 
If  greed  of  gain  has  never  ruled  me  in  my  art, 
And  if  therein  it  e'er  has  been  my  chief  delight 
To  toil  for  your  amusement  here  with  all  my  might. 
Let  my  example,  pray,  to  younger  men  be  shown. 
That  they  your  pleasure  seek,  in  pref'rence  to  their  own. 


Prologus.  9-[^ 


Ne  plus  iniquum  possit  quam  aequum  oratio. 

Facite  aequi  sitis  ;  date  crescendi  copiam, 

Novarum  qui  spectandi  faciunt  copiam, 

Sine  vitiis ;  ne  ille  pro  se  dictum  existimet, 

Qui  nuper  fecit  servo  currenti  in  via 

Decesse  populum  ;  cur  insano  serviat  ? 

De  illius  peccatis  plura  dicet,  cum  dabit 

Alias  novas,  nisi  fmem  maledictis  facit. 

Adeste  aequo  animo  ;  date  potestatem  mihi 

Statariam  agere  ut  liceat  per  silentium  ; 

Ne  semper  servus  currens,  iratus  senex, 

Edax  parasitus,  sycophanta  autem  impudens, 

Avarus  leno,  assidue  agendi  sint  mihi 

Clamore  summo,  cum  labore  maximo. 

Mea  causa  causam  hanc  justam  esse  animum  inducite, 

Ut  aliqua  pars  laboris  minuatur  mihi, 

Nafei  nunc  novas  qui  scribunt,  nil  parcunt  seni ; 

Siquae  laboriosa'st,  ad  me  curritur ; 

Si  lenis  est,  ad  aliuni  defertur  gregem. 

In  hac  est  pura  oratio;  experimini. 

In  utramque  partem  ingenium  quid  possit  meum. 

Si  numquam  avare  pretium  statui  arti  meae, 

Et  eum  esse  quaestum  in  animum  induxi  maximum, 

Quam  maxime  servire  vestris,  commodis  ; 

Exemplum  statuite  in  me,  ut  adolescentuli, 

Vobis  placere  studeant  potius  quam  sibi. 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I. 

A  Village  Street.     Enter  Chremes  and  Menedemus,   tlie  latter  with  a  spade 

and  rake  in  liand. 

Chre. — Acquaintance,  sir,  between  us,  though  of  recent  date — 
Beginning  when  you  bought  some  land  near  mine  cf  late — 
And  though,  as  ground  for  friendship,  there  be  nothing  more, 
Yet  either  your  stout  heart,  or  that  you  live  next  door — 
Which  is,  in  my  esteem,  to  friendship  close  allied — 
Constrains  me  boldly  and  familiarly  to  chide 
You  toiling  thus  in  what,  it  seems  to  me,  your  age, 
As  well  as  your  great  wealth,  must  bid  you  not  engage. 
Now,  by  both  gods  and  men,  wherefore,  yourself,  so  hate  ? 
Or  what's  your  wish,  with  sixty  years  upon  your  pate, 
And  more,  as  I  believe  ;  possessor,  too,  of  lands 
Whose  worth  exceeds  what  any  neighbor  here  commands ; 
With  troops  of  slaves,  'midst  whom  you  live,  as  if  alone, 
And  for  them  trudge  and  haul,  and  'neath  their  burdens  groan. 
Whene'er  I  go  abroad,  at  morn,  or,  homeward  bound. 
However  late  I  come,  I  see  you  on  your  ground, 
With  plough,  or  rake  in  hand,  hard  delving  in  the  soil, 
Without  a  moment's  rest,  intent  upon  your  toil ; 
And  ne'er  can  I  believe  such  work  real  pleasure  yields. 
But  you  will  say :  if,  in  the  culture  of  your  fields. 
Your  slaves  can,  at  their  tasks,  be  willingly  retain'd 


ACTUS  I. 

SGENA  I. 

Chremes.  Menedemus. 

Chre. — Quamquam  haec  inter  nos  nuper  notitia  admodum'st, 
Inde  adeo  quod  agrum  in  proximo  hie  mercatus  es, 
Nee  rei  fere  sane  amplius  quidquam  fuit ; 
Tamen  vel  virtus  tua  me  vel  vicinitas, 
Quod  ego  in  propinqua  parte  amicitiae  puto, 
Facit  ut  te  audacter  moneam  et  familiariter, 
Quod  mihi  videre  praeter  aetatem  tuam 
Facere  et  praeter  quam  res  te  adhortatur  tua. 
Nam  pro  deum  atque  hominum  fidem,  quid  vis  tibi? 
Quid  quaeris  ?  annos  sexaginta  natus  es, 
Aut  plus  eo,  ut  conjicio ;  agrum  his  regionibus 
Mehorem  neque  preti  majoris,  nemo  habet ; 
Servos  compluris :  proinde  quasi  nemo  siet, 
Ita  tute  attente  illorum  officia  fungere. 
Numquam  tam  mane  egredior,  neque  tam  vesperi 
Domum  reverter,  quin  te  in  fundo  conspicer 
Fodere  aut  arare  aut  aliquid  ferre,  denique 
Nullum  remittis  tempus  neque  te  respicis. 
Haec  non  voluptati  tibi  esse  satis  certo  scio. 
Enim,  dices,  quantum  hie  operis  fiat  poenitet. 
Quod  in  opere  faciundo  operae  consumis  tuae, 


24  The  Self-  Tormentor, 

As  long  as  you  engage,  so  much  the  more  you've  gain'd. 

Men. — Pray,  Chremes,  have  you,  then,  so  httle  work  to  do, 
That  you  can  care  for  things  no  v^'ise  concerning  you  ? 

Chf-e. — I  am  a  man :  what  man  concerns,  must  me  concern. 
Tis  mine  to  warn  you  now,  or  mine  from  you  to  learn. 
If  right,  I'll  copy  you ;  if  wrong,  I  must  deter. 

Meji. — It  suits  me  thus  to  live  ;  please  do  what  you  prefer. 

Chi-e. — E'er  pleased  it  man  to  rack  himself? 

Men. —  Yes,  me,  dear  sir. 

Chre. — If  you  had  grief,  I'd  hold.     'Tis  crime  !     Is  that  not  so, 
I  pray  ?    What  merits  punishment  so  great  ? 

Me?i—  Oh,  Oh  ! 

C/iJ-e. — Pray  do  not  weep ;  make  known  your  secret ;  speak,  sir,  speak! 
Withhold  it  not ;  be  not  afraid ;  believe  I  seek 
Your  good  by  cheerful  words  ;  by  counsel ;  aught  I  have. 

Me7i. — My  story  would  you  know  ? 

Chre. —  For  reasons  which  I  gave. 

Men, — It  shall  be  told. 

Chre.  But  lay  this  heavy  mattock  by. 

And  weary  not  yourself. 

Men. —  Not  so. 

Chre. —  Nay,  tell  me  why. 

Men. — Return  it,  please  ;  I  would  not  through  a  moment's  flight 
Repose. 

Chre. — I'll  not,  I  say. 

Me?i.  Ah,  sir,  you  do  not  right. 

Chre. — Oh,  what  a  weight  it  is  ! 

Me?i.  For  me,  too  light  a  one. 

Chre. — Well  then,  proceed. 

Men. —  My  friend,  a  young  and  only  son 


Heautontimorumenos.  25 

Si  sumas  in  illis  exercendis,  plus  agas. 

Men. — Ghreme,  tantumne  ab  re  tua'st  oti  tibi, 
Aliena  ut  cures  eaqne  nil  quae  ad  te  attinent  ? 

Chre. — Homo  sum :  humani  nihil  a  me  alienum  puto. 
Vel  me  monere  hoc  vel  percontari  puta: 
Rectum'st,  ego  ut  faciam ;  non  est,  te  ut  deterream. 

MeTi. — Mihi  sic  est  usus  ;  tibi  ut  opus  facto'st,  face. 

Chre. — An  cuiquam'st,  usus  homini,  se  ut  cruciet  ? 

Me?i. —  Mihi. 

Chre. — Siquid  labori'st,  nollem  ;  sed  quid  istuc  mali'st  ? 
Quaeso,  quid  de  te  tantum  meruisti  ? 

Men. —  Eheu ! 

Chre. — Ne  lacrima,  atque  istuc  quidquid  est,  fac  me  ut  sciam  ; 
Ne  retice ;  ne  verere  ;  crede  inquam  mihi, 
Aut  consolando  aut  consilio  aut  re  juvero. 

Men. — Scire  hoc  vis  ? 

Chre. —  Hac  quidem  causa,  qua  dixi  tibi. 

Men. — Dicetur. 

Chre. —         At  istos  rastros  interea  tamen 
Appone,  ne  labora. 

Men.—         Minime. 

Chre. —  Quam  rem  agis? 

Men. — Sine  me,  vacivum  tempus  ne  quod  dem  mihi 
Laboris. 

Chre. —         Non  sinam,  inquam. 

Men. —  Ah,  non  aequum  facis. 

Chre. — Hui,  tam  gravis  hos,  quaeso  ! 

Men. —  Sic  meritum'st  meum. 

Chre. — Nunc  loquere. 

Men. —  Filium  unicum  adolescentulum 


26  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

I  have— Ah,  said  I  "  //^zr?  "     'Twere  truer,  had,  to  say, 
For  that  I  have,  there's  doubt. 

Chre.—  Why  so  ? 

Men.—  Attend,  I  pray  : 

A  dame  from  Corinth,  old  and  poor,  hard  by  us  dv^^ells. 
Whose  daughter  this,  my  son,  ador'd,  till  through  her  spells, 
He  took  her  as  a  wife,  and  kept  unknown  to  me. 
This  having  learned,  inhumanly,  as  now  I  see — 
And  not  with  love  so  fit  in  ailments  of  the  mind — 
I  used  that  force,  with  parents  common,  though  unkind, 
And  daily  scolded  him  :  "  What !  do  you  hope  to  thrive 
While  living  thus,  and,  with  a  father  still  alive, 
Pay  worship  to  a  jade,  when  you  should  love  a  wife  ? 
You  err,  if  this  be  so,  nor  know  me,  by  my  life ! 
Now  learn  that  'tis  my  will  to  own  you  as  my  son 
So  long  as  you  do  right ;  if  wrong,  howe'er,  be  done, 
Mine  then  'twill  be  to  find  what's  right  from  me  to  you. 
Your  conduct,  sir,  is  bred  from  having  naught  to  do. 
When  at  your  age,  my  time  was  not  in  idling  spent. 
But  with  an  empty  purse,  to  Asia  far  I  went. 
On  gaining  wealth  and  fame  in  feats  of  arms  intent. 

Thus,  Ghremes,  thus  I  railed  till,  conquered  by  appeals, 
So  oft  and  rudely  made,  the  youth  no  more  conceals 
Conviction  that  my  ^e  and  love  enabled  me, 
Far  better  than  himself,  his  future  good  to  see. 
To  Asia  and  the  wars  he  went  to  serve  his  prince. 

C7/we.— What 's  that  ? 

Men. —  That  secretly  he  went,  now,  three  months  since. 

Chre. — And  you  are  both  to  blame ;  and  yet  in  him  I  find 
The  marks  of  worth  and  sense  of  honor  well  refined. 


-ti 


Heautontimorumenos.  27 

Habeo.     Ah,  quid  dixi?  habere  me?  immo  habui,  Chreme: 
Nunc  habeam,  necne,  incertum'st. 

C/ire. —  Quid  ita  istuc  ? 

Men. —  Scies. 

Est  e  Gorintho  hie  advena  anus  paupercula : 
Ejus  fiham  ille  amare  coepit  perdite, 
Props  jam  ut  pro  uxore  haberet :  haec  clam  me  omnia, 
Ubi  rem  rescivi,  coepi  non  humanitus 
Neque  ut  animum  decuit  aegrotum  adolescentuH 
Tractare,  sed  vi  et  via  pervulgata  patrum. 
Quotidie  accusabam  ;  hem,  tibine  haec  diutius 
Licere  speras  facere,  me  vivo  patre, 
Amicam  ut  habeas  prope  jam  in  uxoris  loco? 
Erras,  si  id  credis,  et  me  ignoras,  Clinia. 
Ego  te  meum  esse  dici  tantisper  volo, 
Dum  quod  te  dignum'st  facies ;  sed  si  id  non  facis, 
Ego,  quod  me  in  te  sit  facere  dignum,  invenero. 
Nulla  adeo  ex  re  istuc  fit,  nisi  ex  nimio  otio. 
Ego  istuc  aetatis  non  amori  operam  dabam, 
Sed  in  Asiam  hinc  abii  propter  pauperiem,  atque  ibi 
Simul  rem  et  gloriam  armis  belli  repperi. 
Postremo  adeo  res  rediit ;  adolescentulus 
Saepe  eadem,  et  graviter  audiendo,  victus  est. 
Et  aetate  putavit  me  et  benevolentia 
Plus  scire  et  providere  quam  se  ipsum  sibi. 
In  Asiam  ad  regem  militatum  abiit,  Chreme. 

C/ire.— Quid  ais? 

Men. —  Clam  me  profectus  mensis  tris  abest. 

C/ire. — Ambo  accusandi ;  etsi  illud  inceptum  tamen 
Animi'st  pudentis  signum  et  non  instrenui. 


28  The  Self- Tormentor. 

Men. — Oh,  when  from  friends,  the  story  of  his  flight  Wcis  heard, 
I  homeward  went  at  once,  my  soul  profoundly  stirred. 
Uncertain  what  to  do  and  sick  from  wounded  love, 
I  lay  me  down.     My  slaves  approach ;  my  clothes  remove. 
I  see  them  run,  some  hastily  the  board  to  spread, 
While  others,  viands  bring,  and  each,  by  ardor  sped, 
His  utmost  does  to  sooth  and  strengthen  me  half  dead. 
And  seeing  this,  I  ask  :  Why  should  so  many  be 
Constrained  to  serve  one  man,  so  many  wait  on  me  ? 
Servants  to  make  my  clothes?     Such  cost  for  one  alone — 
That  one  myself — why  should  I  make?     But  he,  my  son. 
Has  need  thereof  as  much  as  I,  nay,  more  than  I, 
For  these  well  fit  his  age,  and  he  has  tastes  to  gratify. 
Ah,  him  from  home,  have  I  unjustly  forced  to  fly. 
Myself,  I'd  worthy  deem,  on  all  earth's  woes  to  feed. 
Could  I  thus  live  while  he,  my  son,  remains  in  need. 
In  banishment  from  home,  by  fault  of  mine  alone. 
Meantime  to  him,  for  this  great  wrong  that  I  have  done, 
By  toil  and  starving  e'en,  I  shall  somewhat  atone. 

And  thus  resolved,  I  stripped  my  floors  and  walls 
Of  all  that  could  be  sold  ;  my  servants,  from  my  halls 
I  sent,  retaining  only  those  to  whom  the  field, 
In  recompense  for  work,  a  due  return  would  yield. 
Aye,  all  I  sold.     Upon  the  home  where  he  was  reared, 
I  wrote  :  "  This  house  for  sale,"  and  fifteen  talents  cleared. 
Then  hither  came,  where  now  I  plant  and  sow, 
In  hope  that  for  the  pains  I  daily  undergo. 
My  son  will,  in  degree,  find  easement  for  his  woe. 
In  fact,  I  claim  henceforth  no  riglit  to  any  joy, 
Until  His  granted  me  together  with  my  boy. 


Heautontimorumeno8.  29 


Men. — Ubi  comperi  ex  eis,  qui  fuere  ei  conscii, 
Domum  reverter  maestus  atque  animo  fere 
Perturbato  atque  incerto  prae  aegritudine. 
Assido  ;  accurrunt  servi,  soccos  detrahunt : 
Video  alios  festinare,  lectos  sternere, 
Coenam  apparare:  pro  se  quisque  sedulo 
Faciebat,  quo  illam  mihi  lenirent  miseriam. 
Ubi  video  haec,  coepi  cogitare :  Hem,  tot  mea 
Solius  solliciti  sint  causa,  ut  me  unum  expleant? 
Ancillae  tot  me  vestiant  ?     Sumptus  domi 
Tantos  ego  solus  faciam  ?     Sed  gnatum  unicum, 
Quem  pariter  uti  his  decuit  aut  etiam  amplius. 
Quod  ilia  aetas  magis  ad  liaec  utenda  idonea  'st, 
Eum  ego  hinc  ejeci  miserum  injustitia  mea. 
Malo  quidem  me  quovis  dignum  deputem, 
Si  id  faciam.     Nam  usque  dum  ille  vitam  illam  colei 
Inopem,  carens  patria  ob  meas  injurias, 
Interea  usque  illi  de  me  supplicium  dabo, 
Laborans,  quaerens,  parcens,  illi  serviens. 
Ita  facio  prorsus  :  nil  relinquo  in  aedibus. 
Nee  vas,  nee  vestimentum  :  corrasi  omnia, 
Ancillas,  servos,  nisi  eos  qui  opere  rustico 
Faciundo  facile  sumptum  exercirent  suum, 
Omnes  produxi  ac  vendidi ;  inscripsi  ilico 
Aedis  mercede ;  quasi  talenta  ad  quindecim 
Goegi ;  agrum  hunc  mercatus  sum  ;  big  me  exerceo. 
Decrevi  tantisper  me  minus  injuriae, 
Ghreme,  meo  gnato  facere,  dum  fiam  miser ; 
Nee  fas  esse,  ulla  me  voluptate  hie  frui, 
Nisi  ubi  ille  hue  salvus  redierit  meus  particeps. 


30  The  Self-  Tormentor, 

Chre. — Your  heart  is  kind  toward  your  son,  it  seems  to  me ; 
And,  doubtless,  none  could  be  more  kind  to  you  than  he. 
If  rightly  led  ;  yet,  him,  you  must  but  ill  conceive, 
While  he  knows  you  but  ill ;  and  'tis  no  way  to  live. 
You  never  sliow'd  to  him  your  love,  by  word  or  deed. 
To  you,  as  parent,  never  dared  he  trust  or  plead. 
Had  this  been  otherwise,  of  grief,  you'd  known  no  need. 

Men. — 'Tis  so,  I  must  confess ;  my  sin  is  very  great. 

Chre. — Aye,  neighbor,  but  I  hope  the  day  will  come,  not  late, 
When  his  return  in  safety  home,  you'll  gladly  greet. 

Men. — The  gods  so  grant. 

Chre. —  They  will.     Now  if  to  you  'tis  meet 

Upon  this  festal  day,  come  home  with  me,  I  pray. 

Men. — It  cannot  be. 

Chre. —  Why  not?     For  once,  I'm  sure  you  may 

From  torments  take  a  rest.     Your  son  bids  you  refrain. 

Men. — Unseemly  would  it  be  in  me  who  gave  him  so  much  pain. 
To  fly  from  it  myself. 

Chre. —  Is  this  your  feeling  still  ? 

Men. — It  is. 

Chre. —     Farewell. 

Men. —  Adieu  {exit). 

Chre. —  With  tears  mine  eyes  now  fill. 

I  pity  him  indeed  ;  but  time  goes  on  apace. 
And  I  must  bid  my  neighbor  Phania  do  me  grace 
To  feast  with  me  to-day.     I'll  go  and  bid  him  come.     {Knocks  at  door') 
There  was  no  need,  I  find ;  long  since,  he  left  his  home, 
And  waits  at  mine,  they  say ;  my  guests  now  think  me  late  ; 
I'll  therefore  hasten  home ;  but  who  thus  moves  the  gate  ? 
Has  some  one  left  my  house  ?     I'll  step  aside  and  wait. 


Heautontimorumenos.  31 

Chre. — Ingenio  te  esse  in  liberos  leni  puto, 
Et  ilium  obsequentem,  si  quis  recte  aut  commode 
Tractaret.     Verum  neque  ilium  tu  satis  noveras, 
Nee  te  ille  ;  hoc  quod  fit,  ubi  non  vere  vivitur. 
Tu  ilium  numquam  ostendisti  quanti  penderes, 
Nee  tibi  ille'st  credere  ausus  quae  est  aequum  patri. 
Quod  si  esset  factum,  haec  numquam  evenissent  tibi, 

Meft. — Ita  res  est,  fateor  ;  peccatum  a  me  maximum'st. 

Chre. — Menedeme,  at  porro  recte  spero  et  ilium  tibi 
Salvum  aflfuturum  esse  hie  confido  propediem. 

Me?i. — Utinam  ita  di  faxint. 

Chre. —  Facient:  nunc,  si  commodum'st, 

Dionysia  hie  sunt  hodie :  apud  me  sis  volo. 

Men. — Non  possum. 

Chre. —  Cur  non  ?  quaeso,  tandem  aliquantulum. 

Tibi  parce  ;  idem  absens  facere  te  hoc  vult  filius. 

Me7i. — Non  convenit,  qui  ilium  ad  laborem  hinc  pepulerim, 
Nunc  me  ipsum  fugere. 

Chre. —  Siccine'st  sententia? 

Men.-'Biic. 

Chre. —  Bene  vale. 

Men, —  Et  tu. 

Chre. —  Lacrimas  excussit  mihi, 

Miseretque  me  ejus ;  sed  ut  diei  tempus  est, 
Monere  oportet  me  hunc  vicinum  Phaniam, 
Ad  coenam  ut  veniat ;  ibo,  visam  si  domi'st. 
Nil  opus  fuit  monitore  ;  jam  dudum  domi 
Praesto  apud  me  esse  aiunt ;  egomet  convivas  moror. 
Ibo  adeo  hinc  intro ;  sed  quid  crepuerunt  fores 
Hinc  a  me  ?     Quisnam  egreditur  ?  hue  concessero. 


32  Tlie  Self-  Tormentor. 


SCENE  II. 
Glitipho.  Ghremes. 


C/it  (  /o  C/i'u.,  inside?) — Have  no  fear,  I  pray  you,  Clinia ;  there  has 
been  but  small  delay. 
Tended  by  the  guides,  I'm  certahi,  now,  she's  on  the  way. 
With  these  false  and  silly  fancies  which  torment  your  mmd,  have  done. 

Chre.  {aside). — With  whom  talks  my  son  ? 

cut.  (aside). — There's   my   father,   as   I  wished,     [aloud)   Indeed  I 
welcome  you. 

Chre. — Wherefore  ? 

cut. —  Know  you  neighbor  MenedemusV 

Chre.—  Well,  I  do. 

cut. — And  know  he  has  a  son  ? 

Chre. —  In  Asia,  as  I've  heard. 

cut. —  Not  now,  but  here 

With  us. 

Chre. — What's  that  you  say  ? 

cut. —  When,  from  the  ship,  I  saw  him  first  appear, 

I  bade  him  to  our  feast,  for  we  in  boyhood  had  together  grown, 
And  lived  in  greatest  friendliness. 

Chre. —  You  have  most  pleasing  news  made  known, 

And  how  I  wish  that  Menedemus  could,  this  day,  become  our  guest ; 
That  such  an  unexpected  joy  might,  to  our  feast,  give  greater  zest. 
But  surely,  yet,  'tis  time. 


Heautontimorumenos.  33 


SGENA  II. 
Clitipho.  Ghremes. 


C/U. — Nil  adhuc    est    quod    vereare,   Clinia:  hand  quaquam   etiam 
cessant : 
Et  illam  simul  cum  nuntio  tibi  hie  affuturam  hodie  scio. 
Proin  tu  sollicitudinem  istam  falsam,  qua;  excruciat,  mittas. 

C/ire. — Quicum  loquitur  filius  ? 

C/i't — Pater  adest,  quem  volui :  adibo  :  pater,  opportune  advenis. 

C/ire.— Quid  id  est  ? 

C7//. —  Hunc  Menedemum  nostin'  nostrum  Vicinum  ? 

C/ire. —  Probe. 

C/i't. — Huic  filium  scis  esse  ? 

C/ire. —  Audivi  esse  in  Asia. 

C/U. —  Non  est,  pater : 

Apud  nos  est. 

C/ire. —      Quid  ais  ? 

C///. —  Advenientem,  e  navi  egredientem  ilico 

Abduxi  ad  coenam :  nam  mihi  magna  cum  eo  jam  inde  a  pueritia 
Fuit  semper  familiaritas. 

C/ire. —  Voluptatem  magnam  nuntias. 

Quam  vellem  Menedemum  invitatum,  ut  nobiscum  esset  amplius 
Ut  banc  laetitiam  nee  opinanti  primus  objicerem  ei  domi. 
Atque  liercle  etiam  nunc  tempus  est. 

3 


34  The  Self- Tormentor. 

cut. —  Nay,  nay,  beware ;  just  now  it  cannot  be. 

C/^r^.— Why  not  ^ 

cut. —  Because,  still  Clinia  is  in  doubt;  just  landed  from  the  sea, 

All  tilings  he  fears ;  his  father's  wrath,  and  lest,the  same  his  mistress  show, 
Whom  he  so  loves,  and  for  whose  sake  he  went,  and  has  returned. 

Chre. —  I  know. 

cut. — To-day,  he  sent  to  her  his  slave  with  whom,  too,  Syrus  went 
from  me. 

Chf-e. — What  says  he  ? 

cut.—  He  ?     That  he's  forlorn. 

Chre, —  Who  should  be  less  forlorn  than  he  ? 

What  needs  he  that  he  has  not  now,  which  men  esteem  of  highest  worth  ? 
Has  he  not  parents,  country,  friends,  relations,  riches,  gentle  birth  ? 
The  value  true,  of  these  depends,  in  most  part,  on  the  owner's  mind  ; 
Who  uses  them  with  skill,  finds  gain  ;  who  does  not  so,  great  loss  must  find. 

cut. — The  poor  old  man  was  always  harsh,  and  more  than  ever,  now, 
I  fear 
That,  moved  with  wrath  toward  his  son,  he'll  show  himself  still  more  severe. 

Chre. — Will  he — {aside)     But  hold ;  if  now  this  son  hath  for  his 
father  fear,  'tis  right. 

cut. — What's  said  so  low  ? 

Chre. —         That  Clinia  should  have  staid  at  home,  all  things  despite. 
Perhaps  the  father  may  have  been  somewhat  more  harsh  than  pleased 

the  son, 
Yet  this  he  should  have  borne  ;  if  not,  pray,  should  he  bear  with  any  one  ? 
Now,  ought  this  father  mind  his  son,  or  ought  this  son  his  father  mind  ? 
What  seems  to  Clinia  harsh,  is  not ;  for  parents'  harshnesses  you'll  find 
Are  always  much  alike,  that  is,  'mongst  men  of  somewhat  lib'ral  make: 
A  glutton  will  they  not  approve,  nor  can  they  smile  upon  a  rake. 
Of  gold,  they  sparely  give  ;  Ixit  these  their  customs  are,  for  virtue's  sake. 


Heautontimorumenos.  35 

C///. —  Cave  faxis  :  non  opus  est,  pater. 

C/ire. — Quapropter  ? 

C7//. —  Quia  enim  incertum  'st  etiam,  quid  se  faciat :  modo  venit. 

Timet  omnia  :  patris  iram  et  animuin  amicae  se  erga  ut  sit  suae. 
Eam  misere  amat :  j)ropter  eam  haec  turba,  atque  abitio  evenit. 

C/ire. —  Scio 

C7/V. — Nunc  servulum  ad  eam  in  urbem  misit,  et  ego  nostrum  una 
Syrum. 

C/ire. — Quid  narrat  ? 

C/i'L —  Quid  ille  ?  miserum  se  esse. 

C/ire. —  Miserum  ?  quem  minus  credere  'st  ? 

Quid  reliqui  'st  quin  habeat,  quas  quidem  in  homine  dicuntur  bona? 
Parentis,  patriam  incolumem,  amicos,  genus,  cognatos,  divitias. 
Atque  haec  perinde  sunt  ut  illius  animus  qui  ea  possidet : 
Qui  uti  scit,  ei  bona  ;  illi,  qui  non  utitur  recte,  mala. 

C7//. — Immo  ille  fuit  senex  importunus  semper  ;  et  nunc  nil 
magis 
Vereor  quam  nequid  in  ilium  iratus  plus  satis  faxit,  pater. 

C/ire. — Illene  ?  Sed  reprimam  me  :  nam  in  metu  esse  liunc,  illi  est 
utile.  • 

C/il. — Quid  tute  tecum  ? 

C/ire. —  Dicam.  ut  ut  erat,  mansum  tamen  oportuit. 

Fortasse  aliquantum  iniquior  erat  praeter  ejus  lubidinem. 
Pateretur  :  nam  quem  ferret,  si  parentem  non  ferret  suum  ? 
Hunccine  erat  equum  ex  illius  more  an  ilium  ex  hujus  vivere  ? 
Et  quod  ilium  insirtiulat  durum,  id  non  est ;  nam  parentum  injuriae 
Unius  modi  sunt  ferme  ;  paulo  qui  est  homo  tolerabilis, 
Scortari  crebro  nolunt,  nolunt  crebro  convivarier, 
Praebent  exigue  sumptum  :  atque  haec  sunt  tamen  ad  virtutem  omnia. 


36  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Oh,  when  the  mind  allows  itself  by  wicked  lusts  to  be  enslaved, 
Necessity  compels  it  then  to  cherish  thoughts  and  ways  depraved. 
A  maxim  'tis :  "  From  other's  slips  some  profit  for  oneself  to  gain." 

C7//. — You're  right,  I'm  sure. 

C/ire. —  I'll  go  within,  and  of  the  feast,  a  glimpse  obtain  ; 

But  mind,  'tis  growing  late,  so  go  not  far  away  nor  long  remain.  {Exit) 

cut. — What  unjust  judges  fathers  are,  when  in  regard  to  us  they  hold 
That  even  from  our  boyish  days,  we  ought,  in  conduct,  to  be  old, 
Nor  taste  at  all  the  very  things  that  youth,  and  only  youth,  requires. 
They  rule  us  by  their  present  wants,  not  by  their  past,  long  lost  desires. 
If  ever  son  be  born  to  me,  a  facile  father  will  I  make, 
Who,  in  accusing  and  excusing  him  of  faults,  such  means  will  take 
As  mine  does  not,  who,  through  another's  sins,  to  lecture  me,  e'en  seeks. 
Zounds !  when  he  drinks  too  much,  he  boasts  to  me  of  his  odd  freaks, 
And  bids  me  now :  "  From  other's  slips,  some  profit  for  myself  to  gain." 
How  wise !     He  little  knows  how  deaf  I  am  to  what  his  words  contain. 
Far  more,  my  sweetheart's  words  excite,  when  "Give"  or  "Bring  to  me," 

she  cries, 
And  1  no  answer,  have  to  make ;  ah,  then,  more  deeply  no  one  sighs. 
But  Glinia,  now,  although  he  has  sufficient  troiroles  of  his  own. 
Yet  has  a  mistress  gently  bred,  who  wicked  arts  has  never  known ; 
While  mine  is  brazen,  wanton,  proud,  extravagant  and  fond  of  show. 
When  I  should  give,  I  smile ;  for  naught  have  I,  yet  dare  not  tell  her  so. 
This  snare  I  fell  into  of  late,  and  would  not  hare  my  father  know. 


Heautontimorumenos.  37 

Verum  animus  ubi  semel  se  cupiditate  devinxit  mala, 
Necesse  'st,  Glitipho,  consilia  consequi  consimilia ;  hoc 
Scitum  'st  periclum  ex  aliis  facere,  tibi  quid  ex  usu  siet. 

cut — Ita  credo. 

Chre. —  Ego  ibo  hinc  intro,  ut  videam  coense  quid  nobis  siet. 

Tu,  ut  tempus  est  diei,  vide  sis  nequo  hinc  abeas  longius. 

cm. — Quam  iniqui  sunt  patres  in  omnes  adolescentis  judices ! 
Qui  aequum  esse  censent  nos  jam  a  pueris  iUco  nasci  senes  ; 
Neque  illarum  affmes  esse  rerum,  quas  fert  adolescentia. 
Ex  sua  lubidine  moderantur,  nunc  quae  est,  non  quae  ohm  fuit. 
Mihi  si  unquam  fihus  erit,  ne  ille  faciU  me  utetur  patre  ; 
Nam  et  cognoscendi  et  ignoscendi  dabitur  peccati  locus  ; 
Non  ut  meus,  qui  mihi  per  alium  ostendit  suam  sententiam. 
Perii !  is  mi,  ubi  adbibit  plus  paulo,  sua  quae  narrat  facinora ! 
Nunc  ait  periclum  ex  aliis  facito,  tibi  quid  ex  usu  siet. 
Astutus!  ne  ille  baud  scit,  quam  mihi  nunc  surdo  narret  fabulam, 
Magis  nunc  me  amicae  dicta  stimulant :  da  mihi,  atque  affer  mihi 
Cui  quod  respondeam  nil  habeo ;  neque  me  quisquam  'st  miserior. 
Nam  hie  Glinia,  etsi  is  quoque  suarum  rerum  sat  agit,  tamen  habet 
Bene  et  pudice  eductara  et  artis  ignaram  meretriciae. 
Mea'st  potens,  procax,  magnifica  sumptuosa,  nobilis. 
Tum  quod  dem  ei,  recte  est :  nam  nil  esse  mihi  rellgio'st  dicere. 
Hoc  ego  mali  non  pridem  invem ;  neque  etiam  dum  scit  pater. 


ACT   II. 

SCENE  1. 
Glinia.  Glitipho. 

Clin. — If  I  had  prospered  in  my  love,  I  know  she  would  already  here 
Have  come ;  but  in  my  absence,  she,  alas,  has  gone  astray,  I  fear. 
And  many  things  concur  to  aggravate  the  torment  of  my  soul : 
The  chance,  the  place,  her  age,  the  wicked  mother,  too,  'neath  whose  control 
She  is  ;  to  whom,  save  money,  naught  is  sweet. 

cut. —  Oh,  Glinia. 

Clin. —  Wretched  me. 

cut. — Beware  lest  some  one  from  your  father's   house  should  now 

your  coming  see. 
Clin. — I  will ;  but  something  now  presages  ill,  I  know  not  what,  nor 

how. 
cut. — Why  will  you  thus  a  judgment  form,   ere  well  attested  facts 

allow  ? 
Clin. — If  naught  were  wrong,  now  were  she  here. 
cut. —  E'en  now  she'll  come. 

Clin. —  But  when  that  "  now  "  .? 

cut. — You  do  not  think   how   long's   the   road  ;    and,   then   these 
women's  ways,  you  know. 
How  while  they  fix,  unfix,  refix,  a  year  is  gone. 

Clin. —  Oh  Glitipho, 

I  fear. 

cut. —  Take  heart ;  there's  Dromo  now,  and  Syrus,  too  ;  see 

where  they  go ! 


ACTUS    II. 

SGENA  I. 
Glinia.  Clitipho. 

Clin. — Si  mihi  secund^e  res  de  amore  meo  essent,  jamdudum  scio 
Venissent :  sed  vereor,  ne  mulier  me  absente  hie  corrupta  sit. 
Goncurrunt  multoe  opiniones,  quge  mihi  animum  exaugeant : 
Occasio,  locus,  setas,  mater,  cujus  sub  imperio  'st  mala, 
Cui  nil  jam  prseter  pretium  dulce'st. 

cut. —  Glinia. 

Clin. —  Ei  misero  mihi. 

cut. — Etiam  caves,  ne  videat  forte  hie  te  a  patre  aliquis  exiens. 

Clin. — Faciam :  sed  nescio  cjuid  profecto  mi  animus  praesagit  mali. 

cut. — Pergin'  istuc  prius  dijudicare,  quam  scis  quid  veri  siet  ? 

Clin. — Si  nil  mali  esset,  jam  hie  adessent. 

cut. —  lam  aderunt. 

Cli7i. —  Quando  istuc  'jam  'erit  ? 

cut. — Non  congitas  hinc  longule  esse  :  et  nosti  mores  mulierum  : 
Dum  moliuntur,  dum  comuntur  annus  est. 

Clin.—  0  Glitipho, 

Timeo. 

cut. —  Respira  :  eccum  Dromonem  cum  Syro  una :  adsunt  tibi. 


40  The  Self- Tormentor. 


SCENE  II. 


Syrus.  Dromo.  Clitipho.  Glinia. 


Syr. — Speak  you  truly  ? 

Dro. —  Truly. 

Syr. —  While  we  gabble  thus,  'tis  clear 

They  are  loit'ring. 

cat.  {to  Clin.) —  Glinia,  now  she's  coming!     Do  you  hear? 

Clin,  {to  cut.) — Truly,  now  I  hear  and  see,  and  no  one  happier  feels. 

Dro. — No  wise  strange  is  this,  with  troops  of  servants  at  their  heels, 
Waiting  on  them. 

Cli7i.  {to  cut.)—  How's  this  ?     Servants  ?     Whence  ? 

cut.  {to  Clin. —  You  think  I  know  ? 

Syr. — Leaving  them  with  so  much  stuff  to  bear,  was  wrong. 

Clin,  {to  cut.)—  Oh,  Oh  ! 

Syr. — Jewelry  and  clothes  ;  'tis  growing  late  ;  they'll  lose  the  way. 
Stupid  we  to  leave  them  ;  Dromo,  go  now,  meet  them,  pray  ; 
Haste !     Be  off ! 

Clin,  {to  cat) —  Oh  me  !     From  what  a  height  of  hope,  I'm 

thrown  ! 

cut.  {to  Clin.) — Wherefore  this  ?     And  why  dejected  now  ? 

Clin,  {to  cut.) —  Shall  I  make  known  ? 

See  you  ?     Slaves,  gems,  clothes  has  she,  who  had  one  maid  to  tend 
Her  of  late  ;  and  whence  these  things  ? 


Heautontimorumenos.  41 


SCENA  II. 

Syrus.  Dromo.  Clitipho,  Clinia. 


6>r.— Ain'tu  ? 

I?r(?. —  Sic  est. 

Sj'r. —  Verum  interea,  dum  sermones  caedimus, 

Illae  sunt  relictae. 

C///. —  Mulier  tibi  adest :  audin',  Clinia  ? 

C/in. — Ego  vero  audio  nunc  demum  et  video  et  valeo,  Clitipho. 

Z)ro. — Minime  mirum :  adeo  impeditae  sunt :  ancillarum  gregem 
Ducunt  secum. 

C/i'n. —  Perii !  unde  illi  sunt  aucillae  ? 

C7//. —  Men'  rogas  ? 

Syr. — Non  oportuit  relictas  :  portant  quid  rerum  ! 

Clm. —  Ei  mihi ! 

Syr. — Aurum,  vestem  :  et  vesperascit,  et  non  noverunt  viam. 
Factum  a  nobis  stulte'st.     Abi  dum  tu,  Dromo,  illis  obviani : 
Propera  :  quid  stas  ? 

C/m. —  Vae  misero  ml,  quanta  de  spe  decidi ! 

C7//. — Qui  istuc  ?  qua©  res  te  sollicitat  autem  ? 

C/i'n. —  Rogitas  quid  siet  ? 

Viden'tu  ?     Ancillas  aurum  vestem,  quam  ego  cum  una  ancillula 
Hie  reliqui,  unde  ei  esse  censes  ? 


42  -  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

cut.  {to  Clin.) —  I  comprehend. 

Syr.  {to  himself) — What  a  crowd  ?     The  house  will  not  contain  them 
all,  I  know. 
How  they'll  eat,  and  how  they'll  drink  !     For  master,  how  much  woe  ! 
{espying  Clit.  ajid  Clin.)     Here  are  friends,  I  wisli'd. 

Clin,  {to  Cltt) —  Oh  Jove,  where  now  is  honor  gone  ? 

While  I  distracted,  thrust  from  home,  have  roved  for  love  of  you  alone. 
You,  you,  Antiphila,  have  gathered  wealth  and  now  would  me  disown. 
Aye,  you,  for  whom  I'm  thus  disgraced;  for  whom,  my  father  I  despised. 
Him,  for  whose  sake,  I  grieve,  and  who,  'gainst  follies   such  as   this 

advised, 
Alas,  advised  in  vain,  and  never  could  restrain  my  love  for  you, 
But  now  this  shall  be  done,  which,  when  'twere  well  'twere  done,  I 

would  not  do. 
There  lives  no  wretch  like  me ! 

Syr.  {apart) —  Some  error  surely  hath  been  just  begot 

From  out  our  words.     {To  Clin)     Pray,  Clinia,  do  you  take  your  love 

for  what  she's  not  ? 
Her  life's  the  same  ;  her  heart  for  you  appears  to  be 
Unchanged,  so  far  as  we  could  either  hear  or  see. 

Clin. — And  what  was  that  ?     For  there  is  naught  I'd  not  prefer 
To  knowing  I  was  wrong  wherein  I  doubted  her. 

Syr. — Then  firstly  this,  lest  anything  you  fail  to  know : 
That  ancient  dame,  once  called  her  dam,  was  never  so. 
And  now  is  dead,  as  from  a  gossip  on  the  way 
I  heard,  while  she  the  story  told. 

Clit, —  What  gossip,  pray  ? 

Syr. — Stay,  Glitipho,  let  me  proceed  ;  please  not  forestall. 
I'll  come  to  what  you  wish. 

Clit. —  Proceed. 


Heautontimorumenoa.  43 

cut. —  Vah,  nunc  demum  intelligo. 

Syr. — Di  boni,  quid  turbae  'st !  aedes  nostrae  vix  capient,  scio. 
Quid  comedent !  quid  ebibent !     Quid  sene  erit  nostra  miserius  ! 
Sed  eccos  video  quos  volebam. 

Clin. —  0  Jupiter,  ubinam  'st  fides  ? 

Dum  ego  propter  te  errans  patria  careo  demens,  tu  interea  loci 
Conlocupletasti  te,  Antiphila,  et  me  in  his  deseruisti  malis, 
Propter    quam   in    summa   infamia    sum    et    meo   patri    minus    sum 

obsequens, 
Cujiis  nunc  pudet  me  et  miseret,  qui  harum  mores  cantabat  mihi, 
Monuisse  frustra,  neque  eum  potuisse  umquam  ab  hac  me  aspellere. 
Quod  tamen  nunc  faciam ;  turn,  (juuin  gratum  mihi  esse  potuit,  nolui. 
Nemo  'st  miserior  me. 

Syr. —  Hie  de  nostris  verbis  errat  videHcet, 

Quae    hie    sumus    locuti.       Glinia,    ahter    tuum    amorem    atque    est 

accipis  ; 
Nam  et  vita  'st  eadem  et  animus  te  erga  idem  ac  fuit, 
Quantum  ex  ipsa  re  conjecturam  fecimus. 

Clin. — Quid  est  obsecro  ?  nam  mihi  nunc  nil  rerum  omnium  'st 
Quod  malim  quam  me  hoc  falso  suspicarier. 

Syr. — Hoc  primum,  ut  nequid  hujus  rerum  ignores  :  anus, 
Quae  est  dicta  mater  esse  ei  antehac,  non  fuit : 
Ea  obiit  mortem  :  hoc  ipsa  in  itinere  alterae 
Dum  narrat,  forte  audivi 

cm. —  Quae  nam  'st  altera  ? 

Syr. — Mane  :  hoc  quod  coepi  primum  enarrem,  Clitipho  : 
Post  istuc  veniam. 

cut. —  Propera. 


44  The  Self-  Tormentor, 

Sjr.—  Then  first  of  all : 

Her  dwelling  reached,  your  Dromo  at  the  door  applied. 
A  withered  crone  appear'd,  and  flung  the  portal  wide. 
And  Dromo  rushed  inside,  I  close  upon  his  track. 
She  fast'ning  well  the  bolt,  straight  to  her  work  went  back. 
Thus,  Clinia,  was  a  chance,  or  ne'er  was  one  enjoy' d. 
To  learn  how,  while  you  roamed,  the  maid  herself  employ'd, 
As  in  her  presence,  unannounced,  we  forthwith  hied  ; 
For  fittest  time  was  thus  presented  to  decide 
What  was  the  usual  way  in  which  her  life  was  spent, 
A  thing  which,  doubtless,  would  declare  her  spirit's  bent. 

Confronted  thus,  we  found  her  busy  at  the  loom, 
In  common  garments  dress'd,  appropriate  to  the  gloom 
Attendant  on  the  beldam's  death, — as  since  divined. 
Attired  to  please  herself:  no  gems  of  any  kind 
She  wore,  nor  aught  of  borrow'd  gloss,  in  Nature's  stead ; 
And,  then,  her  long,  loose  hair  flung  deftly  round  her  head 
Fell  carelessly  behind — Nay,  hark. 

Clin. —  Ah,  Syrus,  frame 

No  tale  inspiring  joy,  to  cheat  my  hope. 

Syr. —  The  dame 

Worked  at  the  woof.     Beside  her  was  a  little  maid. 
Who  likewise  was  engaged,  rags  o'er  her  shoulders  laid. 
Neglected,  foul  with  filth. 

C/i'f. —  If,  Clinia,  this  be  true, 

As  I  believe  it  is,  what's  happier  now  for  you  ? 
Mark  you  this  maid  described  as  foul  and  foully  clad  ; 
A  sign  it  is  there's  nothing  in  the  mistress  bad, 
When  on  her  body-guard,  no  presents  are  bestow'd  ; 
For  'tis  the  rule  for  those  who  seek  the  shortest  road 


JEeautontimorumenos.  45 

Syr. —  Jam  primum  omnium, 

Ubi  ventum  ad  aedes  est,  Dromo  pultat  fores  : 
Anus  quaedam  prodit :  haec  ubi  aperuit  ostium, 
Continue  hie  se  conjecit  intro,  ego  consequor. 
Anus  foribus  obdit  pessulum,  ad  lanam  redit. 
Hie  sciri  potuit  aut  nusquam  alibi,  Glinia, 
Quo  studio  vitam  suam  te  absente  exegerit, 
Ubi  de  improviso  'st  interventum  mulieri : 
Nam  ea  res  dedit  tum  existimandi  copiam. 
Quotidianae  vitae  consuetudinem. 
Quae  cujusque  ingenium  ut  sit,  declarat  maxime. 
Texentem  telam  studiose  ipsam  offendimus, 
Mediocriter  vestitam  veste  lugubri 
Ejus  anuis  causa  opinor  quae  erat  mortua 
Sine  auro  :  tum  ornatam  ita  uti  quae  ornantur  sibi, 
Nulla  mala  re  esse  expolitam  muliebri, 
Capillus  passus,  prolixus,  circum  caput 
Rejectus  negligenter  :  pax  ! 

C/m. —  Syre  mi,  obsecro, 

Ne  me  in  laetitiam  frustra  conjicias.  • 

Syr. —  Anus 

Subtemen  nebat :  praeterea  una  ancillula 
Erat ;  ea  texebat  una,  pannis  obsita, 
Neglecta,  immunda  illuvie. 

Ch't —  Si  haec  sunt,  Glinia, 

Vera,  ita  uti  credo,  quis  te  'st  fortunatior  ? 
Scin'  banc  quam  dicit  sordidatam  et  sordidam  ? 
Magnum  hoc  quoque  signum  'st  dominam  esse  extra  noxiam, 
Quum  ejus  tam  negliguntur  internuntii. 
Nam  disciplina  est  iisdem,  munerarier 


46  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

The  mistress'  heart  to  find,  her  maid,  with  gifts  to  load. 

Clm.  {to  ^r.)— Proceed  ;  but  mind  you  do  not  try  my  grace  to  seek 
By  Hes.     What  said  she  when  my  name  she  heard  you  speak  ? 

^,-;. — When  told  that  you  were  home,  that  you  had  bid  us  pray 
Her  come  to  you,  the  maiden  toss'd  her  work  away, 
And  tears  adown  her  cheek  gave  one  another  chase. 
In  proof  of  strong  desire  to  see  once  more  your  face. 

Clin. — Now,  by  the  gods,  for  very  joy,  I've  lost  my  head, 
So  great  my  fear. 

cat. —  I  knew  you  had  no  cause  for  dread. 

But,  Syrus,  'tis  my  turn  ;  the  gossip's  name,  I  pray  ? 

Syr. — We  bring  your  Bacchis,  too. 

cut. —  What  ?     Bacchis  did  you  say  ? 

Knave,  where  bring  you  her  ? 

Syr. —  To  our  own  house,  'tis  clear. 

cat. — What,  my  father's  house  ? 

Syr. —  The  same  forsooth. 

cut. —  Oh  shameless  man  ! 

Syr. —  Look  here: 

Never  noted  deed  was  done  without  some  loss  of  peace. 

cut. — Rogue,  at  risk  of  mine,  you  seek  your  profit  to  increase. 
Should  you  any  error  make,  I  must  be  lost,  indeed. 
Wherefore  this  ? 

Syr. —  Nay,  but — 

cut.—  What  "  but "  ? 

Syr. —  Permit. 

Cli/i. —  Let  him  proceed. 

cut. — Granted. 

Syr. —  Things  are  then  as  if — 

cut. —  What  nonsense  now,  I  pray, 


Heautontimorumenos.  47 

Ancillas  primum,  ad  dominas  qui  affectant  viam. 

Clin. — Pei^e,  obsecro  te,  et  cave  ne  falsam  gratiam 
Studeas  inire.     Quid  ait  ubi  me  nominas  ? 

Syr. — Ubi  dicimus  redisse  te  et  rogare  uti 
Venirel  ad  te,  mulier  telam  desinit 
Continuo  et  lacrimis  opplet  os  totum  sibi, 
Ut  facile  scires  desiderio  id  fieri. 

Clin. — Prae  gaudio,  ita  me  di  ament,  ubi  sim  nescio  : 
Ita  timui. 

Clif. —  At  ego  nil  esse  scibam,  Glinia. 

Age  dum  vicissim,  Syre,  die  quae  ilia  'st  altera  ? 

Syr. — Adducimus  tuam  Bacchidem. 

cm. —  Hem,  quid  ?     Bacchidem  ? 

Eho  sceleste,  quo  illam  ducis  ? 

Syr. —  Quo  ego  illam  ?  ad  nos  scilicet. 

Clif. — Ad  patremne  ? 

Syr. —  Ad  eum  ipsum. 

cut. —  0  hominis  impudentem  audaciam  ! 

Syr. —  Heus  tu, 

Non  fit  sine  periclo  facinus  magnum  nee  memorabile. 

cut. — Hoc  vide  ;  in  mea  vita  tu  tibi  laudem  is  quaesitum,  scelus, 
Ubi  si  paululum  modo  quid  te  fugerit,  ego  perierim. 
Quid  illo  facias  ? 


Syr. — 

At  enim — 

cut.— 

Quid  enim  ? 

Syr. — 

Si  sinas,  dicam. 

Clin. — 

Sine 

C7//.— Sino. 

Syr. — 

Ita 

res  est  haec  nunc,  quasi  cum — 

cut.— 

Quas,  malum,  a 

48  The  Self-  Tormentor, 

Speaks  he  ? 

Clin. —  Syrus,  he  is  right ;  the  point  without  delay  ! 

Syr. — I'll  no  longer  keep  my  tongue  ;  you  treat  me  very  ill ; 
Chtipho,  you're  hard  to  bear. 

Clin.—  He  must  be  heard.     {To  Clit.)     Be  still ! 

Syr. — Love,  you  would,  and  would  possess,  with  means  your  love  to 
show  ; 
Yet,  to  win,  no  risk  will  take  ;  you  are  no  fool,  oh  no, 
Truly,  if  no  fool  will  wish  for  what  he  cannot  own. 
Risking  must  with  wishing  go,  or  both  be  let  alone. 
Of  these  two  conditions,  now,  which  choose  you  :  let  us  see. 
Yet  I  know  my  plan  is  good  and  from  all  danger  free. 
For  you  may,  sir,  at  your  father's,  fearless  wooing  hold  ; 
Then,  to  help  you  keep  your  promise,  will  I  find  the  gold. 
Which  oft  failing  heretofore,  my  ears  your  anger  show. 
Wish  you  more  ? 

Clit—  If  this  could  be  ? 

Syr. —  If?     Trying,  you  will  know. 

Clit. — Hasten  ;  tell  your  project ;  what,  pray,  is  it  ? 

Syr. —  We'll  aver 

Clinia  loves  your  mistress. 

Clit. —  Good.     But  his  ;  what,  then,  of  her  ? 

Also  his  ;  as  if  e'en  one  were  not  enough  disgrace  ? 

Syr. — To  your  mother  she  shall  go. 

cut.—  '  And  why  ? 

Syr. —  Oh,  too  much  space 

'Twould  require  to  tell ;  there's  cause  enough. 

Clit. —  Inventions  all ! 

Nought  I  see  to  tempt  me  into  such  a  trap  to  fall. 

Syr. — Stay ;  if  this  you  fear,  I  have  a  plan  which  both  can  say 


Heautontimorumenos.  49 

Narrare  occipit  ? 

Clifi. —  Syre,  verum  hie  dicit :  mitte,  ad  rem  redi. 

Syr. — Euimvero  reticere  nequeo  :  inultimodis  injuriu's, 
Clitipho,  neque  ferri  potis  es. 

Clin. —  Audiundum  hercle  'st,  tace. 

Syr. — Vis  amare,  vis  potiri,  vis  quod  des  illi  effici : 
Tuum  esse  in  potiundo  periclum  non  vis  :  haud  stulte  sapis  : 
Siquidem  id  sapere  'st,  velle  te  id  quod  non  potest  contingere. 
Aut  haec  cum  illis  sunt  habenda,  aut  ilia  cum  his  mittenda  sunt. 
Harum  duarum  conditionum  nunc  utram  malis,  vide : 
Etsi  consilium  quod  cepi  rectum  esse  et  tutum  scio. 
Nam  apud  patrera  tua  amica  tecum  sine  metu  ut  sit  copia  'st. 
Tum  quod  illi  argentum  es  pollicitus,  eadem  hac  inveniam  via, 
Quod  ut  efficerem,  orando  surdas  jam  auris  reddideras  mihi. 
Quid  aliud  tibi  vis  ? 

cut. —  Siquidem  hoc  fit. 

Syr. —  Siquidem  ?     Experiundo  scies. 

cm. — Age,  age,  cede  istuc  tuum  consiliujii :    Quid  id  est  ? 

Syr. —  Assimulabimus 

Tuam  amicam  hujus  esse. 

cut. —  Pulchre  :  cedo,  quid  hie  faciet  sua  ? 

An  ea  quoque  dicetur  hujus,  si  una  haec  dedecori  'st  parum  ? 

Syr. — Immo  ad  tuam  matrem  abdueetur. 

cut.—  Quid  eo  ? 

Syr. —  Longum  'st,  Clitipho, 

Si  tibi  narrem,  quamobrem  id  faciam  :  vera  causa  'st. 

cut. —  Fabulae  ! 

Nil  satis  firmi  video,  quamobrem  accipere  hunc  mi  expediat  metum. 

Syr. — Mane,  habeo  aliud,  si  istuc  metuis,  ambo  quod  fateamini 


50  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Dang'rous  is  not. 

Ch'/.. —  Something  such,  please  find. 

S)'r. —  Without  delay. 

I'll  meet  her  on  the  way  and  send  her  homeward. 

a/A—  Eh  ? 

What's  that  you  say  ? 

Syr. —  I'll  rid  you  now  of  every  fear, 

And  help  you  sleep  unharmed  henceforth  on  either  ear. 

C///.— What  shall  I  do  ? 

Ck'n. —  Do  ?     Do  what's  best. 

C/i'A —  Ah  Syrus,  speak 

In  faith. 

Syr.         Too  late!     Begone!     In  vain,  to-night,  you'll  seek, 

C/in. — This  is  your  chance  ;  enjoy  it  now  ;  you  little  know — 

C7//. — Ho  !  Syrus,  ho  !  {ft?  Syrus  who  is  going) 

Syr. —  Oh  call  and  bawl !     I  mean  to  go  ! 

Clin. — If  e'er  another  chance  may  come  within  your  reach. 

Clif. — Oh  Syrus,  you  are  right !     Back,  Syrus,  I  beseech  ! 

Syr.  {aside)— B.Q\>\xrxis.     {To  Clit.)     Well  what? 

cut. —  Gome  back  !     Gome  back  ! 

Syr. —  I'm  here,  proceed, 

Though  sure  my  plan  displeases  you. 

Clit. —  Oh  no,  indeed, 

To  you,  I  now  commit  myself,  my  love,  my  name ; 
You  shall  be  judge;  beware, though,  lest  you  suffer  blame. 

Syr. — Ridiculous  it  is  such  feelings  to  express. 
As  if  what  must  concern  you  much,  concerns  me  less. 
That  this  affair  should  fail,  just  let  us  now  suppose  : 
Why,  you  a  scolding  get,  and  I,  a  storm  of  blows. 
Sure  this  is  quite  enough  to  make  me  take  good  heed. 


Heautontimorumenos.  61 

Sine  periclo  esse. 

Clif. —  Hujusmodi  cibsecro  aliquid  reperi. 

Syr. —  Maxime. 

Ibo  obviam  huic,  dicam  ut  revertatur  domum. 

C/t'f. —  Hem. 

Quid  dixti  ? 

Syr. —         Ademptum  tibi  jam  faxo  omnem  metum, 
In  aurem  utramvis  otiose  ut  dormias, 

C7//. — Quid  ago  nunc? 

C/in. —  Tune  ?     quod  boni, 

C/if. —  Syre,  die  modo 

Verum. 

Syr. — Age  modo  :  hodie  sero  ac  nequicquam  voles. 

C/i'n. — Datur ;  fruare  dum  licet,  nam  necias 

C7/V. — Syre  inquam. 

Syr. —  Perge  porro,  tamen  istuc  ago. 

C/ifi. — Ejus  sit  potestas  posthac  an  numquam  tibi. 

C///. — Verum  hercle  istuc  est.     Syre,  Syre,  inquam,  heus,  heus  Syre. 

Syr. — Goncaluit.     Quid  vis  ? 

Ck't —  Redi,  redi ! 

Syr. —  Adsum,  die  quid  est? 

Jam  hoc  quoque  negabis  tibi  placere. 

C/if. —  Immo,  Syre, 

Et  me  et  meum  amorem  et  famam  permitto  tibi. 
Tu  es  judex :  nequid  accusandus  sis  vide. 

Syr. — Ridiculum'st  te  istuc  me  admonere,  Clitipho: 
Quasi  istic  mea  res  minor  agatur  quam  tua. 
Hie  siquid  nobis  forte  adversi  evenerit, 
Tibi  erunt  parata  verba,  huic  homini  verbera  : 
Qua  propter  haec  res  neutiquam  neglectu'st  mihi. 


52  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Beg  Clinia  now  pretend  to  love  your  friend. 

C/iH. —  Indeed, 

It  shall  be  done  ;  for  things  are  now  in  such  a  state 
That  'tis  of  need. 

C//V. —  Oh  Clinia,  love  for  you  is  great. 

C/m. — But  should  she  fail. 

Syr. —  Her  part,  has  she  been  made  to  learn. 

C/m. — I  marvel  that  you  could  with  such  contentment  turn 
A  creature  so  disposed  all  decent  folks  to  spurn. 

Syr. — At  just  the  lucky  time  to  gain  one's  end,  I  came; 
For,  at  her  house,  I  met  a  soldier,  vile  of  fame, 
In  pressure  of  his  suit,  whom  she,  with  cunning  art. 
Enticed  and  made,  meanwhile,  with  unfed  love  to  smart, 
Perhaps  to  be  thereby  more  pleasing  still  to  you. 

But  look  you  ;  take  great  heed  lest  some  bold  thing  you  do. 
Your  father's  sight,  you  know,  in  such  affairs  is  long  ; 
But  you,  when  self-restraint  were  wise,  are  no  wise  strong. 
From  two-fold  words  and  twistings  of  your  neck  refrain  ; 
From  sighs,  hems,  coughs  and  winks,  I  pray  you  to  abstain. 

C/it — I'll  win  your  praise. 

Syr. —  Please  try. 

C/ii. —  Oh,  I'll  astonish  you. 

Syr.  {seeing  the  women).     How  well  these  folks  contrived  our  foot- 
steps to  pursue  ! 

cut. — Where  pray?  {Syrus  restrains  him.)  Why  hold  me  back? 

Syr. —  You've  now  no  right  to  her ! 

cm. — I  know,  at  home  ;  but  here. 

Syr. —  No  more  ;  you  must  not  stir. 

cut. — Permit  me. 

Syr. —  No,  I  say. 


Heautontimorumenos.  53 

Sed  istunc  exora,  ut  suam  esse  assimulet. 

Clin. —  Scilicet 

Facturum  me  esse  :  in  eum  jam  res  rediit  locum, 
Ut  sit  necessus. 

cm. —        Merito  te  amo,  Glinia. 

Clin. — Verum  ilia  nequid  titubet. 

Syr. —  Perdocta'st  probe. 

Clin. — At  hoc  demiror,  qui  tarn  facile  potueris 
Persuadere  illi,  quae  solet  quos  spernere ! 

Syr. — In  tempore  ad  earn  veni,  quod  rerum  omnium'st 
Premum :  nam  quendam  misere  ofTendi  militem 
Ejus  noctem  orantem  :  liaec  arte  tractabat  virum, 
Ut  illius  animum  cupidum  inopia  incenderet : 
Eademque  ut  esset  apud  te  hoc  quam  gratissimum. 
Sed  heus  tu  !  vide  sis  nequid  imprudens  ruas. 
Patrem  novisti  ad  has  res  quam  sit  perspicax  : 
Ego  te  autem  novi  quam  esse  soleas  impotens  : 
Inversa  verba,  eversas  cervices  tuas, 
Gemitus,  screatus,  tussis,  risus  abstine. 

cut. — Laudabis. 

Syr. —  Vide  sis. 

cut. —  Tutemet  mirabere. 

Syr. — Sed  quam  cito  sunt  consecutae  mulieres  ! 

cut. — Ubi  sunt  ?     Cur  retines  ? 

Syr. —  Jam  nunc  haec  non  est  tua. 

cut. — Scio,  apud  patrem  :  at  nunc  interim. 

Syr. —  Nilo  magis. 

cut. — Sine. 

Syr. — Non  sinam,  inquam. 


54  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

cut. —  Oh  please,  a  little ! 

Syr.—  No ! 

cut. — Let  me  salute. 
Syr. —  If  wise,  you'll  go. 

cut.  Well,  be  it  so. 

But  he  ? 

Syr. — Will  stay  with  me. 

cut. —  Oh  happy  man  ! 

Syr.  Go,  go ! 


SCENE  III. 


Bacchis.  AwTipmLA.  Clinia.  Syrus. 

Bac. — You,  Antiphila,  I  praise  and  judge  to  be  in  grace,  i 

Helped  by  study  thus  to  match  your  manners  with  your  face.  | 

Marvel  I  no  wise,  indeed,  you  see  yourself  admired,  | 

While  with  charms  which  clothe  your  mind,  you  find  your  speech  attired 
When  upon  your  mode  of  life,  I've  with  myself  conferred. 
When  I've  others  seen  like  you  who  shun  the  common  herd,  | 

Strange,  it  seems  not,  you  are  thus,  and  we  of  diff'rent  sort ;  a 

Yours,  'lis  vantage  to  be  chaste,  but  ours,  with  vice  to  sport.  | 

Beauty  'tis  our  lovers  seek,  and  worship  nothing  more  ;  ^' 

When  our  charms  have  disappeared,  then  others  they  adore  ;  i 

And,  unless  we  garner  wealth,  in  begg'ry  must  we  live. 
But  resolving  once  to  love,  and  all  your  life  to  give 
To  one  suited  to  your  taste,  the  one  you'll  love  is  found. 


Heautontimorumenos.  55 


cm.— 

Quaeso  paulisper. 

Syr.— 

Veto. 

Cy?V.— Saltern 

salutai 

■e. 

Syr. — 

Abeas  si 

sapias. 

cm.— 

Eo: 

Quid  istic  ? 

Syr. — 

Manebit. 

cm.— 

Hominem  felicem ! 

Syr.-^ 

Ambula ! 

SGENA  III. 

Bacchis.  Antiphila.  Clinia.  Syrus. 

Bac. — Edepol  te,  mea  Antiphila,  laudo  et  fortunatam  judico, 
Id  cum  studuisti,  isti  formae  ut  mores  consimiles  forent : 
Minimeque,  ita  me  di  ament,  miror  si  te  sibi  quisque  expetit. 
Nam  mihi,  quale  ingenium  liaberes,  fuit  indicio  oratio : 
Et  cum  egomet  nunc  mecum  in  animo  vitam  tuam  considero, 
Omniumque  adeo  vostrarum  vulgus  quae  ab  se  segregant ; 
Et  vos  esse  istius  modi  et  nos  non  esse  baud  mirabile'st ; 
Nam  expedit  bonas  esse  vobis  ;  nos,  quibuscum  est  res  non  sinunt. 
Quippe  forma  impulsi  nostra  nos  amatores  colunt : 
Haec  ubi  immutata'st,  illi  suum  animum  alio  conferunt. 
Nisi  si  prospectum  interea  aliquid  est,  desertae  vivimus. 
Vobis  cum  uno  semel  ubi  aetatem  agere  decretum'st  viro, 
Gujus  mos  maxime'st  consimilis  vostrum  hi  se  ad  vos  applicant. 


66  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Kindness  then  each  other  showing,  both  are  firmly  bound, 
Never  anything  intruding,  fellowship  to  wound. 

Ant — Ways  of  others,  know  I  naught  of;  mine  have  been  to  make 
His  content  the  source  whence  mine  to  take. 

C/in. —  Ah,  for  that  sake, 

Antiphila,  my  love,  for  that  have  I  my  native  land  resought. 
For  while  from  home  so  far  away,  all  other  pain  to  me  was  naught 
Compared  with  that  of  lacking  you. 

Sjr.  {apart).—  So  I  believe. 

Clin,  {apart).—  I  can't  endure! 

Oh  may  I  not  now  make  this  beauteous  spirit  to  myself  secure  ? 

Syr.  {apart). — Your  father,  from  his  looks,  I  judge,  will  further  wrath 
'gainst  you  display. 

Bac. — What  youth  is  yonder  watching  us  ? 

Ant.  {perceiving  Clin) —  Oh  help  me,  Bacchis,  help,  I  pray ! 

Bac. — Tell  me,  forsooth,  what  ails  you  now  ? 

Ant.  Oh,  I  shall  die. 

Bac. —  What's  this  surprise, 

Antiphila  ? 

Ant. — Clinia  or  not  ? 

Bac. —  Who  holds  your  eyes  ? 

Clin. — All  hail  my  soul ! 

Afit. —  Hail  long-lost  friend  ! 

Clin. —  How  fares  my  sweet  ? 

A  fit. — Oh  joy  to  see  you  safe ! 

Clin. —  And  is  it  you  I  greet, 

Antiphila  desired,  and  with  such  trembling,  too  ? 

Syr. — Oh  go  indoors  !  go  in !  The  master  waits  for  you. 


Heautontimorumenos.  57 

Hoc  beneficio  utrique  ab  utrisque  vero  devincimini, 

Ut  numquam  ulla  amori  vostro  incidere  possit  calamitas. 

A?it. — Nescio  alias  :  me  quidem  semper  scio  fecisse  sedulo, 
Ut  ex  illius  commodo  meum  compararem  commodum. 

Clin. —  Ah, 

Ergo,  mea  Antiphila,  tu  mmc  sola  reducem  me  in  patriam  facis ; 
Nam  dum  abs  te  absum,  omnes  mihi  labores  fuere  quos  cepi  leves, 
Praeter  quam  tui  carendum  quod  erat. 

Syr. —  Credo. 

Clin. —  Syre,  vix  suffero. 

Hocin'  me  miserum  non  licere  meo  modo  ingenium  frui  ? 

Syr. — Immo  ut  patrem  tuum  vidi  esse  liabitum,  diu  etiam  duras  dabit. 

Bac. — Quis  nam  hie  adolescens  est,  qui  intuitur  nos  ? 

Ant. —  Ah,  retine  me,  obsecro. 

Bac. — Amabo,  quid  tibi  est  ? 

Ant. —  Disperii,  perii  misera  I 

Bac. —  Quid  stupes, 

Antiphila  ? 

Ant. — Videon'  Cliniam  an  non? 

Bac. —  Quern  vides? 

Clin. — Salve,  anime  mi ! 

Ant. —  0  mi  Glinia,  salve ! 

Clin.—  Ut  vales  ? 

Ant. — Salvum  venisse  gaudeo. 

Clin. —  Teneone  te, 

Antiphila,  maxime  animo  exoptatam  meo  ? 

Syr. — Ite  intro  ;  nam  vos  jamdudum  expectat  senex. 


ACT   III. 

SCENE  I. 
Chremes.  Menedemus. 

Chre. — The  day  already  dawns  ;  why  tap  not  at  the  gate, 
And  to  my  neighbor  be  the  foremost  to  relate 
His  son's  return  ?  This  Glinia  would  not  like,  I  know. 
But  when  I  see  the  man^such  torments  undergo, 
Through  absence  of  his  son,  should  I  such  joy  delay 
While  damage  to  the  youth,  this  act  could  not  convey? 
I  can't  refrain  ;  in  helping  him  I  must  engage, 
And  as  my  son,  to  his,  a  friend  of  equal  age, 
Is  rend'ring  service  now  as  I  have  found, 
So  we,  of  equal  years,  should  be  together  bound. 

Men.  (entering^ — I'm  born  to  wretchedness,   it  seems  to  me  quite 
clear. 
Or  false  indeed,  must  be  the  saying  which  I  hear : 
That,  "  Time  has  healing  in  his  wings  for  human  woes  "; 
For  every  day,  I  feel  that  worse  than  ever  grows 
This  sorrow  for  my  son  ;  and  as  Time  flies,  the  more 
I  long  to  see  him  home ;  aye,  more  his  loss  deplore. 

Chre.  {apart?) — I  see  he's  coming  out,  and  I  will  naught  withhold. 
{to  Men.) — Hail  Menedemus,  peace  !  Good  news  I  must  unfold 


ACTUS    III. 

SGENA  I. 
Ghremes.  Menedemus. 

Chre. — Luciscit  hoc  jam  :  cesso  pultare  ostium 
Vicini,  primo  ex  me  ut  sciat  sibi  filium 
Redisse  ?  Etsi  adolescentem  hoc  nolle  intelligo. 
Verum  cum  videam  miserum  hunc  tam  excruciarier 
Ejus  abitu,  celem  tam  insperatum  gaudium, 
Cum  illi  pericli  nil  ex  indicio  siet? 
Haud  faciam ;  nam  quod  potero  adjutabo  senem. 
Item  ut  filium  meum  amico  atque  aequali  suo 
Video  inservire  et  socium  esse  in  negotiis, 
Nos  quoque  senes  est  aequum,  senibus  obsequi. 

Men. — Aut  ^o  profecto  ingenio  egregio  ad  miserias 
Natus  sum,  aut  illud  falsum'st,  quod  vulgo  audio 
Dici :  "  diem  adimere  aegritudinem  hominibus  ; " 
Nam  mihi  quidem  quotidie  argescit  magis 
De  filio  aegritudo,  et  quanto  diutius 
Abest,  magis  cupio  tanto  et  magis  desidero. 

Chre. — Sed  ipsum  foras  egressum  video :  ibo  alloquar. 
Menedeme,  salve :  nuntium  apporto  tibi, 


60  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

And  which,  of  all  things,  you  would  far  prefer  to  hear. 

Men. — Oh  Chremes,  of  my  son  bring  you  to  me  good  cheer? 

CAre. — He's  well  and  lives. 

Men. —  And  where,  I  pray  ? 

C/ire. —  At  home  with  me. 

Men. — My  son  ? 


C/ire.— 

E 

'en  so. 

Men. — 

Come  back  ? 

Chre.— 

Most  true. 

Men. — 

He,  Clinia,  he 

Returned  ? 

Chre. — 

I've  said. 

Men. — 

Then  lead  me  to  him,  pray.     Pro 

Chre. — He  wishes  his  return  unknown  to  you.     Indeed, 
He  would  avoid  your  sight  for  shame,  and  lives  in  fear 
Lest  your  old  treatment  should  become  still  more  severe, 

Meti. — You  spoke  not  to  him  of  ray  grief? 

Chre.—  Nay, 

Men. —  Pray,  sir,  why  ? 

Chre. — Because,  for  you  and  him,  a  foolish  plan  you'd  try, 
If  you,  for  pity's  sake,  a  conquered  spirit  show. 

Men. — It  can't  be  helped  ;  I've  been  too  harsh  a  father. 

Chre.  Oh, 

My  Menedemus,  to  extremes,  I  see  you  lean  : 
You're  either  far  too  bountiful,  or  far  too  mean. 
Which  ever  way  you  go,  you  tumble  in  the  slough. 
Some  time  ago,  far  rather  than  your  son  allow 
To  meet  this  silly  wench,  who  was  with  favors  few, 
At  that  time  quite  content,  whom  all  things  suited,  too  ; 
You  frightened  him  from  home  ;  and  she,  with  tortured  mind, 


Meautontimorumenos.  61 

Cujus  maxime  te  fieri  participem  cupis. 
Men. — Num  quidnam  de  meo  gnato  audivisti,  Chreme  ? 
C/ire. — Valet  atque  vivit. 
Men. —  Ubinam'st  quaeso  ? 

C/ire. —  Apud  me  domi. 

Men. — Meus  gnatus  ? 


C/ire. — 

Sic  est. 

Men. — 

Venit  ? 

CAre. — 

Certe. 

Men. — 

Glinia 

Meus  venit  ? 

C/ire.— 

Dixi. 

Men. — 

Eamus  :  due  me  ad  eun 

C/ire. — Non  vult  te  scire  se  redisse  etiam,  et  tuum 
Conspectum  fugitat ;  propter  peccatum  hoc  timet, 
Ne  tua  duritia  antiqua  ilia  etiam  adaucta  sit. 

Men. — Non  tu  ei  dixisti  ut  essem  ? 

C/ire. —  Non. 

Men. —  Quamobrem,  Chreme? 

C/ire. — Quia  pessime  istuc  in  te  atque  in  ilium  consulis, 
Si  te  tam  leni  et  victo  esse  animo  ostenderis. 

Men. — Non  possum  :  satis  jam,  satis  pater  durus  fui. 

C/zre. —  Ah, 

Vehemens  in  utramque  partem,  Menedeme,  es  nimis. 
Aut  largitate  nimia  aut  parsimonia. 
In  eandem  fraudem  ex  hac  re  atque  ex  ilia  incides. 
Primum  olim  potius  quam  paterere  filium 
Commetare  ad  mulierculam,  quae  paululo 
Tum  erat  contenta  cuique  erant  grata  omnia, 
Proterruisti  hinc.     Ea  coacta  ingratiis 


62  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Was  forced  to  wander  out,  a  livelihood  to  find. 

Now,  when  to  win  her  back,  large  sums  he  must  bestow, 

You'll  give  whate'er  he  asks.     But  that  you  may  well  know 

How  ably  she's  prepared  your  ruin  to  obtain, 

Take  notice  that  she  brings  an  army  in  her  train, 

With  clothes  and  gems  weighed  down,  and  if  some  Persian  lord 

Her  lover  were,  the  cost  he  could  but  ill  afford. 

And  much  less  you. 

Men. —  Is  she  at  your  house  now  ? 

Chre.—  Now  there  ? 

I'm  sure  ;  for  she  and  train,  last  night,  enjoy'd  my  fare, 
Which,  if  I  grant  again,  must  leave  me  quite  undone, 
For,  passing  other  things,  by  sipping  wine  alone. 
What  havoc,  while  she  said  :  "  Ah,  bah,  this  wine's  too  strong. 
Good  father,  something  mild!     Ah, do  !     For  mild,  I  long !  " 
Alas  my  barrels  all,  and  all  my  jars  how  light 
By  constant  teasing  made,  and  in  a  single  night ! 
What  win  you  do  when  daily  at  your  board  they  feed  ? 
The  gods  so  help  me  now,  I  pity  much,  indeed, 
Your  fortune,  sir. 

Men. —  Well,  let  him  do  whate'er  he  will, 

Aye,  take  and  spend  and  waste.     I'm  bound  to  bear,  if  still 
I  keep  him  home. 

Chre. —  So  be  it  friend  ;  but  if  you're  bound 

To  manage  matters  thus,  most  wise  it  will  be  found 
To  let  him  think  you  know  not  how  your  gold  is  spent. 

J/<?«.— What  shall  I  do  ? 

Chre. —  Do  aught  than  what  is  your  intent : 

Through  others  give,  and  let  yourself  be  cheated  e'en 
By  means  of  scheming  slaves.     Already  have  I  seen 


Heautontimorumenos.  63 

Postilla  coepit  victum  vulgo  quaerere. 
Nunc  cum  sine  magno  intertrlmento  non  potest 
Haberi,  quidvis  dare  cupis.     Nam  ut  tu  scias, 
Quam  ea  nunc  instructa  pulchre  ad  perniciem  sciet, 
Primum  jam  ancillas  secum  adduxit  plus  decem, 
Oneratas  veste  atque  auro  :  satrapa  si  siet 
Amator,  numquam  sufferre  sumptus  queat : 
Nedum  tu  possis. 

Men. —  Estne  ea  intus  ? 

Chre. —  Sit  rogas  ? 

Sensi :  nam  unam  ei  coenam  atque  ejus  comitibus 
Dedi :  quod  si  iterum  mihi  sit  danda,  actum  siet. 
Nam  ut  alia  omittam,  pytisando  modo  mihi 
Quid  vini  absumpsit,  sic  hoc,  dicens  asperum, 
Pater,  hoc  est ;  aliud  lenius  sodes  vide. 
Relevi  dolia  omnia,  omnis  serias  : 
Omnis  sollicitos  habuit :  atque  haec  una  nox. 
Quid  te  futurum  censes,  quem  assidue  exedent  ? 
Sic  me  di  amabunt,  ut  me  tuarum  miseritum  'st, 
Menedeme,  fortunarum. 

Men. —  Facial  quod  libel  : 

Sumat  consumat,  perdat,  decretum  'st  pati, 
Dum  ilium  modo  habeam  mecum, 

Chre. —  Si  certum  'st  tibi 

Sic  facere,  illud  permagni  referre  arbitror, 
Ut  ne  scientem  sentiat  te  id  sibi  dare. 

Men. — Quid  faciam  ? 

Chre. —  Quidvis  potius  quam  quod  cogitas  : 

Per  alium  quemvis  ut  des  :  falli  te  sinas 
Technis  per  servulum  :  etsi  subsensi  id  quoque. 


64  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Them  at  their  plots,  and  'mongst  themselves  sly  movements  make. 

With  Dromo,  Syrus  talks  ;  our  youngsters  often  take 

Each  other's  views  ;  and  better  'twere  through  fraud  you  lose 

A  talent  than  a  mina  in  the  way  you'd  choose. 

The  money's  naught ;  the  question  for  us  is,  forsooth. 

How  we,  with  smallest  risk,  can  send  it  to  the  youth  ; 

For  let  him  once  but  know  the  weakness  of  your  heart, 

And  how  much  rather  e'en  with  all  your  wealth  you'd  part, 

Nay,  even  with  your  life,  than  suffer  him  to  go, 

Ah,  what  a  door  you'd  ope  to  wantonness  and  woe ! 

How  soon  the  time,  when  all  life's  sweets  would  turn  to  gall  ; 

For  license  brings,  at  last,  its  punishment  to  all. 

Whatever  fills  his  mind,  he'll  have,  and  ne'er  will  he 

Care  aught  if  what  he  seeks  may  just,  or  unjust  be. 

You  could  not  see  your  wealth  and  him  both  at  an  end. 

But  would  you  close  your  purse  ?     With  weapon  he'd  contend 

Which  has  a  pow'r  supreme,  as  he  has  learned  to  know  ; 

'Tis  this  :  he'd  say,  at  once,  that  now  'tis  time  to  go  ! 

Men. — It  seems  to  me,  indeed,  that  things  might  turn  out  so. 

C/ire. — By  Hercules,  last  night,  I  could  no  sleep  obtain, 
So  much  I  wish'd  to  place  your  son  with  you  again. 

Men. — -Give  me  your  hand,  and  in  my  cause  an  effort  make. 

C/ire. — I'm  ready. 

Men. —  Know  you  what  I'd  have  you  undertake? 

C/ire. — Explain. 

Men. —  The  plot  against  me  which  you've  seen  begun. 

Help  them  mature,  at  once.     I  wish  to  give  my  son 
Whate'er  he  wants,  and  see  him  now. 

C/ire. —  I'll  give  it  care  ; 

But  Syrus  must  be  found  and  school'd  in  this  affair. 


Heautontimorumenos.  66 

Ulos  ibi  esse,  id  agere  inter  se  clanculum. 
Syrus  cum  illo  vostro  consusurrant,  conferunt 
Consilia  ad  adolescentes  :  et  tibi  perdere 
Talentum  hoc  pacto  satius  quam  illo  minam. 
Non  nunc  pecunia  agitur,  sed  illud  quo  raodo 
Minimo  periclo  id  demus  adolescentulo. 
Nam  si  semel  tuum  animum  ille  intellexerit, 
Prius  proditurum  te  tuam  vitam,  et  prius 
Pecuniam  omnem,  quam  abs  te  amittas  filium :  hui, 
Quantam  fenestram  ad  nequitiem  patefeceris  ! 
Tibi  autem  porro  ut  non  sit  suave  vivere, 
Nam  deteriores  omnes  sumus  licentia. 
Quodcumque  incident  in  mentem,  volet :  neque  id 
Putabit  pravum  an  rectum  siet,  quod  petet. 
Tu  rem  perire,  et  ipsum  non  poteris  pati. 
Dare  denegaris  :  ibit  ad  illud  ilico, 
Quo  maxime  apud  te  se  valere  sentiet : 
Abiturum  se  abs  te  esse  ilico  minabitur. 

Men. — Videre  verum  atque  ita  uti  res  est  dicere. 

Chre. — Somnum  hercle  ego  hac  nocte  oculis  non  vidi  meis. 
Dum  id  quaero,  tibi  qui  filium  restituerem. 

Men. — Gedo  dextram  ;  porro  te  idem  oro  ut  facias,  Ghreme. 

Chre. — Paratus  sum. 

Men. —  Scin'  quid  nunc  facere  te  volo  ? 

Chre.— liic. 

Men. —  Quod  sensisti  illos  me  incipere  fallere, 

Id  ut  maturent  facere  :  cupio  illi  dare 
Quod  vult,  cupio  ipsum  jam  videre. 

Chre. —  Operam  dabo. 

Syrus  est  prehendendus  atque  adhortandus  milii. 


6G  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Look  !     Some  one  leaves  my  house  ;  get  home  without  delay, 
Lest,  seen  together  thus,  our  purpose  we  betray. 
I  must  be  gone  ;  Simon  and  Grito  who,  you  know. 
Are  neighbors  here,  dispute  about  their  bounds,  and  so 
Have  call'd  on  me  to  judge.     I'll  go  and  say  the  aid 
Which  I  had  promised  them  to-day  must  be  delay'd  ; 
I'll  soon  return,     (exi'f.) 

Men. —  Do  so.     Ye  gods,  for  light  I  call ! 

Are  human  beings,  then,  so  constituted  all. 
That  each,  another's  state,  knows  better  than  his  own  ? 
Or  seems  it  so  when,  truly,  'tis  the  mind  overthrown 
By  great  excess  of  joy,  or  by  some  whelming  woe  ? 
This  man  knows  better  my  affairs  than  I  e'en  know. 

Chre.  {returning) — I'm  free,  and  now  about  your  business  straight 
will  go. 

{Exit.  Men.,  Chre.  retires  anS.  halts  at  a  short  distance^ 


SCENE  II. 
Syrus.  Ghremes. 

Syr.  {to  himself) — Run,  Syrus,  run,  for  get  you  must,  if  get  you  can. 
Some  money,  here  or  there,  by  swindling  this  old  man. 

Chre.  {apart) — Did  I  not  guess  they  were  at  work  ?     'Tis  plain  to  see 
That  Glinia's  serving  man  must  somewhat  stupid  be. 
And  so  upon  my  knave  the  task  is  laid  by  them. 

Syr.  {to  himself) — Who  speaks?     I'm  lost.     Zounds,  did  he  hear? 


Heautontimorumenos.  67 


A  me  nescio  quis  exit :  concede  hinc  domum, 
Ne  nos  inter  nos  congruere  sentiant 
Paulum  negoti  mi  obstat:   Simus  et  Grito 
Vicini  nostri  hie  ambigunt  de  finibus  : 
Me  cepere  arbitrum  :  ibo  ac  dicani  ut  dixeram 
Operam  daturum  me,  hodie  non  posse  eis  dare. 
Gontinuo  hie  adsura. 

Men. —  Ita  quaeso,  di  vostram  fidem  ! 

Ita  comparatam  esse  hominum  naturam  omnium, 
Aliena  ut  meUus  videant  et  dijudicent 
Quam  sua  ?     An  eo  sit  quia  re  in  nostra  aut  gaudio 
Sumus  praepediti  nimio  aut  aegritudine  ? 
Hie  mihi  nunc  quanto  plus  sapit  quam  egomet  mihi, 

C/ire. — Dissolvi  me,  otiosus  operam  ut  tibi  darem. 


SGENA  11. 

Syrus.  Ghremes. 

Syr. — Hac  iliac  circumcursa  :  inveniundum  es  tamen 
Argentum  :  intendenda  in  senem  'st  fallacia. 

C/ire. — Num  me  fefellit  hosce  id  struere  ?  videlicet 
Ille  Gliniae  servus  tardiusculus  est : 
Idcirco  huic  nostro  tradita  'st  provincia. 

Syr. — Quis  hie  loquitur  ?  peril !  num  nam  haec  audivit  ? 


68  The  Self- Toiinentor. 

Chre. —  Ho,  Syrus! 

Syr. —  Hera. 

Chre. — Why  liere  ? 

Syr. —  Why  not  ?     But  you  thus  early  out  to  see 

Is  strange,  so  much  you  drank,  last  night. 

Chre. —  Not  much  for  me. 

Syr. — Not  much,  you  think  ?     You  realize  just  what  they  say 
About  the  eagle's  age. 

Chre.—  That's  good. 

Syr. —  The  woman's  way 

Is  kind ;  a  graceful  wench. 

Chre. —  Well,  yes  ;  she  makes  a  show. 

Syr. — By  Hercules,  her  beauty's  great. 

Chre. —  Oh,  she's  so,  so. 

Syr. — Not  like  the  dames  of  old  ;  but,  for  these  days,  most  fair, 
I'm  not  surprised  that  Clinia  loves  her  to  despair. 
But,  then,  he  has  a  father  greedy,  mean  and  cold  : 
This  neighbor  here  ;  you  know  him  sure  ?     As  if  with  gold 
He  were  not  whelmed,  compels  his  son  from  home  to  go. 
Pray,  know  you  not  what  I  relate  ? 

Chre. —  And  why  not  know  ?. 

One  knave  deserves  the  mill. 

Syr.—  Ah,  who  ? 

Chre. —  The  servant :  he 

Who  waits  upon  his  son, 

Syr.  (aside) —  I  feared  he  spoke  of  me. 

Chre. — That  he  has  this  allow'd. 

Syr. —  What  could  he  do  ? 

Chre.—  What  do  ? 

He  should  have  something  sought ;  forsooth,  some  plot  lo  brew, 


Heautontimorumenos.  69 

C/ire. —  Syre. 

Syr. —  Hem. 

C/ire. — Quid  tu  istic  ? 

Syr. —  Recte.     Equidem  te  demiror,  Chreme, 

Tam  mane,  qui  heri  tantum  bibiris. 

C/ire. —  Nil  nimis. 

Syr. — Nil  narras  ?  visa  vero  'st  quod  dici  solet 
Aquilae  senectus. 

CAre. —  Heia. 

Syr. —  Mulier  commoda 

Faceta  haec  merctrix. 

CAre. —  Sane,  idem  visa  'st  mihi. 

Syr. — Et  quidem,  hercle  forma  luculenta. 

C/ire. —  Sic  satis. 

Syr. — Ita  non  ut  olim,  sed  uti  nunc,  sane  bona  : 
Miniraeque  miror,  Glinia  banc  si  deperit. 
Sed  habet  patrem  quendam  avidum  miserum  atque  aridum, 
Vicinum  hunc  :  nostin'  ?  at  quasi  is  non  divitiis 
Abundet,  natus  ejus  profugit  inopia. 
Sis  esse  factum  ut  dico  ? 

C/ire. —  Quid  ego  nesciam  ? 

Hominem  pistrino  dignum. 

Syr. —  Quem  V 

C/ire. —  Istunc  servolum 

Dico  adolescentis, 

Syr. —  Syre,  tibi  timui  male. 

Chre. — Qui  passus  est  id  fieri. 

Syr. —  Quid  faceret? 

C/ire. —  Rogas  ? 

Aliquid  reperiret,  fingeret  fallacias, 


70  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Wherel^y  this  youth  might  give  his  mistress  all  she  craved. 
And  thus  this  cross-grained  man  from  sorrow  might  have  saved. 

Sjr. — You  joke. 

C/ire. —  Nay,  Syrus,  nay  ;  thus  to  have  done,  'twere  meet. 

Syr. — Should  servants,  then,  their  masters  cheat  ? 

CAre. —  At  times  to  cheat 

I  much  commend. 

Syr. —  So,  I. 

C/ire. —  Yes,  I  commend  because 

To  great  uneasiness  it  often  brings  a  pause  ; 
And  here  an  only  son  had  help'd  at  home  to  stay. 

Syr.  {aside) — Now,  if  he  be  sincere  or  not,  I  cannot  say  ; 
But  he  emboldens  me  still  deeper  plots  to  lay. 

C/ire. — But  what  expects  this  knave?     Must  Glinia  go  again, 
When,  to  supply  his  wants,  he  can  no  means  obtain  ? 
Has  he  no  plots  against  the  sire  ? 

Sjr. —  A  blockhead,  he  ! 

C/ire. — In  that  case,  'twould  become  you  well  his  aid  to  be. 
For  Clinia's  sake. 

Sjr. —  With  ease  I  could,  if  you  command. 

For  such  affairs,  from  use,  of  course,  I  understand. 

C/ire. — So  much  the  better,  then. 

Syr. —  If  pledged,  I  shall  not  lie. 

C/ire. — Proceed  at  once. 

Syr. —  And  please  remember,  by  the  by. 

What  you've  just  said,  if  in  a  trouble  of  this  kind 
(For  human  nature's  one)  your  son,  sometime,  you  find. 

Chre. — That  cannot  be,  I  hope. 

Syr. —  That  cannot  be,  hope  I, 

Nor  speak  I  thus  of  him  from  aught  I  can  descry. 


JEeautontimorumenos.  71 

Unde  esset  adolescenti,  amicae  quod  daret, 
Atque  hunc  difficilem  invitum  servaret  senem. 

Syr. — Garris. 

CAre. —  Haec  facta  ab  illo  oportebat,  Syre. 

Sjr. — Eho,  quaeso  laudas,  qui  eros  fallunt  ? 

C/ire. —  In  loco 

Ego  vero  laudo. 

Syr. —  Recte  sane. 

C/ir(^. —  Quippe  qui 

Magnarum  saepe  id  remedium  aegritudinum  'st : 
Huic  jam  mansisset  unicus  gnatus  domi. 

Syr. — Jocon'  an  serio  ille  haec  dicat  nescio, 
Nisi  mihi  quidem  addit  animum,  quo  lubeat  magis. 

C/irc. — Et  nunc  quid  expectat,  Syre  ?  an  dum  liinc  denuo 
Abcat,  cum  tolerare  illius  sumptus  non  queat  ? 
Nonne  ad  senem  aliquam  fabricam  fingit  ? 

Syr. —  Stolidus  est. 

CAre. — At  te  adjutare  oportet  adolescentuli 
Causa. 

Syr. —         Facile  equidem  facere  possum,  si  jubes  : 
Etenim  quo  pacto  id  fieri  soleat,  calleo. 

C/ire. — Tanto  hercle  melior. 

Syr. —  Non  est  mentiri  meum. 

C/ire. — Fac  ergo. 

Syr. —  At  lieus  tu,  facito  dum  eadem  haec  memineris, 

Siquid  hujus  simile  forte  aliquando  evenerit, 
Ut  sunt  humana,  tuus  ut  faciat  filius. 

C/ire. — Non  usus  veniet,  spero. 

Syr. —  Spero  hercle  ego  quoque. 

Neque  eo  nunc  dico,  quo  quicquam  ilium  senserim  : 


72  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

i 
But  should  it  come — well — well — you  know  he's  young,  as  yet. 

(aside)     And  should  the  chance  present,  oh  Chremes,  I'll  ne'er  let 

My  grasp  on  you  be  lost. 

C/ire. —  Should  aught  like  this  turn  out, 

We'll  see  what's  best  to  do  ;  this  thing,  now  go  about,     {ext'l.) 

Syr. — No  fitter  speech  than  this  from  him  hav€  I  e'er  heard. 
And  I  a  scamp,  I  can't  believe  it,  on  my  word, 
With  license  full !     Hark,  some  one  has  our  door  just  stirr'd.     {hides.) 


SCENE  III. 

Chremes.  Clitipho.  Syrus. 

Chre. — Wherefore  this  ?    What  manners,  Clitipho,  are  these?     Should 
this  be  done  ? 

cut. — What's  been  done  ? 

Chre. —  Did  I  not  see  you  lewdly  place  your  hand  upon 

Bacchis  ? 

Syr.  {apart) — True  !     Lost. 

cut.—  Me  ? 

Chre. —  Aye,  with  these  eyes  ;  do  not  deny. 

Wrong  you've  done  your  friend,  indeed,  to  steal  his  love  with  wanton  eye. 
Insult,  truly,  'tis,  at  least, 

Touching  thus  the  mistress  of  a  friend  invited  to  your  feast. 
Shameless,  yesterday,  your  actions 

Syr.  {apart) —  %  Truly  so. 

Chre. —  And  grievous,  too. 


Heautontimorumenos.  73 

Sed  siquid,  nequid  :  quae  sit  ejus  aetas,  vides  : 
Et  ne  ego  te,  si  usus  veniat,  magnifice,  Chreme, 
Tractare  possim. 

Chre. —  De  istoc  cum  usus  venerit, 

Videbimus  quid  opus  sit :  nunc  istuc  age. 

Syr. — Nunquam  commodius  umquam  erum  audivi  loqui, 
Nee  cum  male  facere  crederem  mi  impunius 
Licere.     Quisnam  a  nobis  egreditur  foras. 


SGENA  III. 
Chremes.  Glitipho.  Syrds. 

Chre. — Quid  istuc  quaeso  ?   qui   istic  mos  est  Glitipho  ?     Itane  fieri 
oportet  ? 

cut. — Quid  ego  feci. 

Chre. —  Vidin'  ego  te  modo  manum  in  sinum  huic  meretrici 

Inserere  ? 

Syr. —  Acta  haec  res  est :  perii. 

cut. —  Mene  ? 

Chre. —  Hisce  oculis  :  ne  nega. 

Facis  adeo  indigne  injuriam  illi,  qui  non  abstineas  manum  : 
Nam  istaec  quidem  contumelia  'st, 

Hominem  amicum  recipere  ad  te  atque  ejus  amicam  subigitare. 
Vel  heri  in  vino  quam  immodestus  fuisti, 

Syr. —  Factum. 

Chre. —  Quam  molestus  I 


74  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Help  me  now  the  gods,  I  fear'd  a  conflict  might  ensue, 
For  these  lovers,  as  I  know,  will  o'er  trifles  warm. 

C/it. — But,  sir,  Glinia  loves  me  well,  and  knows  I  mean  no  harm. 

Chre. — ^True  this  may  bo,  yet  you  should,  sir,  let  these  wooers  woo  alone. 
Oft  would  lovers  toy  before  no  eyes  except  their  own. 
From  myself  I  judge,  and  friend  I've  not  to-day, 
To  whose  inspection  all  my  acts  and  secret  thoughts  I'd  dare  display. 
The  rank  of  one  would  hold  me  back ;  another  I  should  fear,  for  shame, 
Lest  bold  or  foolish  I  might  seem  ;  and,  doubtless,  Glinia  feels  the  same. 
Our  duty  'tis  to  know  just  how  and  when  we  can  another  please. 

^7'.  (advancing  and  speaking  to  Clif.') — Listen  now  ! 

CliL—  Alas ! 

^7'. —  And  said  I  not  these  things,  aye  these  ? 

What  a  wise  and  prudent  man  you've  shown  yourself! 

cm. —  Be  still,  I  pray. 

Syr.—WeW. 

Chre. —  Ah,  Syrus,  how  ashamed  I  feel ! 

Syr. —  I  think,  for  cause,  you  may. 

Grievous  'tis  to  me. 

cut. —  Upbraid  you  still  ? 

Syr. —  I'll  speak  what  is  the  truth. 

cut. — May  I  not  approach  these  friends  ? 

Chre. —  A  way  there  is,  forsooth. 

Syr.  {aside) — All  is  o'er  ;  ere  money  comes,  this  fellow  plays  the  dunce. 
{to  Chre.)     Now  list  to  me, though  fool  I  be. 

Chre.—  What  shall  I  do  ? 

Syr. —  Bid  him,  at  once, 

Begone  from  here. 

cut.—        Where  shall  I  go  ? 

Syr. —  Where  ?    Where  you  please.    Leave  him  and  her. 


Heautontimorumenos.  75 

Ut  equidem,  ita  me  di  ament,  metui  quid  futurum  denique  esset. 
Novi  ego  amantis  :  animum  advertunt  graviter  quae  non  censeas. 

cut. — At  fides  mi  apud  hunc  est,  nil  me  istius  facturum,  pater, 

Chre. — Esto :  at  certe  ut  hincconcedas  aliquo  ab  ore  eorum  aliquantisper. 
Multa  fert  libido  :  ea  facere  prohibet  tua  praesentia. 
De  me  facio  conjecturam  :  nemo  'st  meorum  amicorum  hodie, 
Apud  quem  expromere  omnia  mea  occulta,  Ghitipho,  audeam. 
Apud  alium  prohibet  dignitas  ;  apud  alium  ipsius  facti  pudet, 
Ne  ineptus,  ne  protervus  videar  :  quod  ilium  facere  credito. 
Sed  nostrum  'st  intellegere  utcumque  atque  ubicumque  opis  sit  obsequi. 

^7-. — Quid  iste  narrat ! 

cut. —  Perii. 

Syr. —  Clitipho,  haec  ego  praecipio  tibi  ? 

Hominis  frugi  et  temperantis  functu's  officium. 

cat. —  Tace  sodes. 

Syr. — Recte  sane. 

Cltn. —  Syre,  pudet  me. 

Syr. —  Credo  :  neque  id  injuria  :  quin 

Mihi  molestum  'st. 

cut.—  Pergin'  ? 

Syr. —  Hercle  verum  dico  quod  videtur. 

Clit. — Non  accedam  ad  illos  ? 

Chre. —  Eho  quaeso,  una  accedundi  via  'st. 

Syr. — Actum  'st :  hie  prius  se  indicarit  quam  ego  argentum  effecero. 
Ghreme,  vin'  tu  homini  stulto  mi  auscultare  ? 

Chre. —  Quid  faciam  ? 

Syr. —  Jube  hunc 

Abire  hinc  aliquo. 

Clit. —  Quo  ego  hinc  abeam  ? 

Syr. —  Quo  lubeat :  da  illis  locum  : 


76  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Go,  take  a  walk  ! 

cut. —  A  walk  !     And  where  ? 

Syr. —  Ah,  bah,  as  if  no  place  there  were  ! 

Go  there,  and  yon,  and  where  you  choose  ! 

Chre. —  He  wisely  speaks,  and  I  consent. 

cut. — For  this,  oh  Syrus,  curses  be  upon  you  sent,     {exit.) 

Syr. — Henceforward  keep  your  hands  where  they  belong. 
Am  I  right  ?     What,  Chromes,  will  he  come  to  in  the  end. 
If  you  fail  to  watch  him  closely,  curb  him, and  chastise  ? 

C//rd'.— Care  I'll  take. 

Syr. — But  now's  the  time,  while  he's  beneath  your  eyes. 

Chre.—VW  attend. 

Syr. —  Twere  wise,  sir,  for  he  heeds  me  less  and  less. 

Chre. — Now,  the  news  ?     Does  what  we  lately  talked  about  progress  ? 
Something  hit  upon,  or  not? 

Syr. —  The  plot  we  were  to  lay. 

Mean  you  ?     Yes,  I  have  it. 

Chre. —  Clever  man  ;  what  is  it,  say  ? 

Syr. — All  I'll  tell ;  but  things  in  order  march. 

Chre. —  Come,  Syrus,  grace, 

Syr. — Bacchis  is  too  base. 

Chre. —  'Tis  plain, 

Syr. —  But  if  you  knew  how  base. 

Mark  her  purpose  :  Here  a  dame  from  Corinth  made  abode  ; 
Who,  to  Bacchis,  as  'tis  claimed,  a  thousand  drachmae  owed, 

Chre.—S^eW,  what  then  ? 

Syr. —  She  died  and  left  a  daughter  young  and  free. 

Whom  this  Bacchis  now  as  pledge  for  debt  detains, 

Chre. —  I  see.  [good  sir. 

Syr. — Here  she  brought  the  maid — the  same  now  with  your  wife, 


Heautontimorumenon.  7  7 

Abi  deainbulatum. 

C/tY. —  Deambulatum  !     Quo  ? 

Syr. —  Vah,  quasi  desit  locus. 

Abi  sane  istac,  istorsum,  quovis. 

CAre. —  Recte  dicit,  censeo. 

C/t't. — Di  te  eradiccut,  qui  me  hinc  extrudis,  Syre. 

Syr. — At  tu  pol  tibi  istas  posthac  comprimito  manus. 
Censen'  vero  ?  quid  ilium  porro  credis  facturum,  Ghreme, 
Nisi  eum,  quantum  tibi  opis  di  dant,  servas,  castigas,  mones  ? 

C/ire. — Ego  istuc  curabo. 

Syr. —  Atqui  nunc,  here,  tibi  istic  adservandus  est. 

C/ire.—Fiel 

Syr. —         Si  sapias :  nam  mihi  jam  minus  minusque  obtemperat. 

C/irg. — Quid  tu  ?     Equid  de  illo  quod  dudum  tecum  egi  egisti,  Syre  ? 
Aut  est  tibi  quod  placeat  an  non  dum  etiam  ? 

Syr. —  De  fallacia 

Dicis  ?  est :  inveni  nuper  quandam. 

C/ire. —  Frugi  es  ;    cedo  quid  est  ? 

Syr. — Dicam :  verum  ut  aliud  ex  alio  incidil. 

CAre. —  Quidnam,  Syre  ? 

Syr. — Pessuma  heae  est  meretrix. 

CAre. —  Ita  videtur. 

Syr. —  Immo  si  scias : 

Vah,  vide  quod  inceptat  facinus :  fuit  quaedam  anus  Corinthia 
Hie  ;  huic  drachmarum  argenti  haec  mille  dederat  mutuum. 

CAre.— Qmid  tum  ? 

Syr. —  Eamortua'st:  reliquit  filiam  adolescentulam. 

Ea  relicta  huic  arraboni  'st  pro  illo  argento. 

CAre.—  Intellego. 

Syr. — Hanc  secum  hue  adduxit,  ea  quae  est  nunc  apud  uxorem  tuam. 


78  Tlie  Self-  Tormentor. 

Chre.—\Ne\\  what  then  ? 

^7'. —  To  Chnia,  Bacchis  will  the  maid  transfer, 

To  secure  the  thousand  loanM. 

Chre. —  Would  this  be  sur'ty  ? 

Syr. —  Whew ! 

Have  you  doubts  ?     I  thought  it  good. 

Chre. —  And  what  then  will  you  do  ? 

Syr. — Go  to  Menedemus  ;  her,  a  captive  represent, 
Rich  and  noble,  whom  to  buy  would  swell  the  sum  thus  spent. 

Chre. — Foolish  this. 

Syr. —  How  so  ? 

Chre. —  For  Menedemus,  I'll  reply  : 

I'll  not  buy.     How  now  ? 

Syr. —  Encourage  me. 

Chre. —  No  need  to  buy. 

6>;-.— What  ?     No  need  ? 

Chre. —  No  need,  indeed. 

Syr.—  What's  this  ? 

Chre. —  You'll  soon  know  more. 

Syr. — Stay  awhile  ;  what  causes  all  this  clamor  at  our  door  ? 


SCENE    IV. 

SOSTRATA.    GhREMES.    NuRSE.    SyRUS. 

Sos. — Unless  my  mem'ry  is  at  fault,  this  is  the  ring,  beyond  surmise. 
With  which  my  infant  was  exposed. 

Chre.  {to  Syr.) —  What  meaning  in  this  gabble  lies  ? 

Sos. — What  say  you  ?     Seems  it  not  the  same  ? 


Heautontimommenos.  7  9 

Chre. — Quid  turn  ? 

Syr. —  Gliniam  orat,  sibi  uti  id  nunc  det :  illani  illi  tamen 

Post  daturam  :  mille  numraum  poscit. 

Chre. —  Et  poscit  quidem  ? 

Syr.—  Hui ! 

Dubium  id  est  ?  ego  sic  putavi. 

Chre. —  Quid  nunc  facere  cogitas  ? 

Syr. — Egone  ?  ad  Menedemum  ibo  :  dicam  banc  esse  captam  ex  Caria, 
Ditem  et  nobilem  :  si  redimat,  mE^num  inesse  in  ea  lucrum. 

Chre. — Erras. 

Syr.—  Quid  ita  ? 

Chre. —  Pro  Menedemo  nunc  tibi  ego  respondeo : 

Non  emo :  quid  agis  ? 

Syr. —  Optata  loquere. 

Chre. —  Atqui  non  est  opus. 

Syr.— ^on  opus't  ? 

Chre. —  Non  hercle  vero. 

Syr. —  Qui  istuc,  miror. 

Chre. —  Jam  scies. 

Syr. — Mane,  mane,  quid  est  quod  tarn  a  nobis  graviter  crepuerunt  fores  ? 


SGENA  IV. 

SOSTRATA.    ChREMES.    NuTRIX.    SyRUS. 

Sos.  —Nisi  me  animus  fallit,  hie  profecto  'st  anulus  quem  ego  suspicor ; 
Is  quicum  exposita  'st  gnata. 

Chre. —  Quid  vult  sibi,  Syre,  haec  oratio  ? 

Sos. — Quid  est  ?  isne  tibi  videtur  ? 


80  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

X^ur. —  I  could  not  help  at  once  decide 

It  was  the  same. 

Sos. —  But  view  it  closely,  Nurse,  again. 

jSfur. —  I'ni  satisfied. 

Sos. — Go  then  within,  and  if  she  has  already  bathed,  come  let  me 
know, 
And  ril  await  my  husband  here. 

Syr.  (to  Chre.) —  She  waits  for  you  ;  see  wherefore  ;  go  ! 

She's  sad,  and  not  without  h  cause  ;  the  cause  I  fear. 

Chre.  {to  Syr.)~  What  cause,  I  pray  ? 

With  great  ado,  no  doubt,  some  most  important  nonsense  she'll  display. 

Sos. — Ah,  husband  dear  ! 

Chre. —  Ah,  dearest  wife  ! 

Sos. —  I  look'd  for  you. 

Chre.—  Say  why,  my  dear. 

Sos. — Think  not,  first  I  pray,  that  having  for  your  law  no  fear, 
I'd  defy  it. 

Chre. —  Shall  1  such  a  dreadful  thing  believe  ? 

I'll  believe. 

Syr.  (apart) —         Some  sin  unknown  must  now  a  purge  receive. 

Sos. — When  about  to  give  you  once  a  child,  you  sternly  bid 
Me  reject  it  if  a  girl. 

Chre. —  And  I  know  what  you  did : 

Kept  it  sure. 

Syr.  (apart) — That's  true  ;  young  master,  to  your  purse  now  look. 

Sos. — Nay  ;  an  aged  dame  from  Corinth,  tho',  the  infant  took 
To  expose. 

Chre. —         Could  one  by  folly  such,  e'er  be  possessed  ? 

Sos. — What,  alas,  sir,  have  I  done  ? 

Chre. —  You  ask  ? 


Heautontimorumenos.  81 

iV>//. —  Dixi  equidem,  ubi  mi  ostendisti,  ilico 

Eum  esse. 

Sos. —  At  satis  ut  contemplata  modo  sis,  mea  nutrix. 

Nut. —  Satis. 

Sos. — Abi  nunc  jam  intro,  atque  ilia  si  jam  laverit,  mihi  nuntia. 
Hie  ego  virum  interea  opperibor. 

Syr. —  Te  vult :  videas  quid  velit : 

Nescio  quid  tristis  est :  non  temere  'st :  timeo  quid  sit. 

Chre. —  Quid  siet  ? 

Ne  ista  hercle  magno  jam  conatu  magnas  nugas  dixerit. 

Sos. — Ehem  mi  vir. 

Chre. —  Ehem  mea  uxor. 

Sos. —  Te  ipsum  quaero. 

Chre. —  Loquere,  quid  velis. 

Sos. — Primum  hoc  te  ore,  nequid  credas  me  adversum  edictum  tuum 
Facere  esse  ausam. 

Chre. —  Vin'  me  istuc  tibi,  etsi  incredibile  'st,  credere  ? 

Credo. 

Syr. —         Nescio  quid  peccati  portat  haec  purgatio. 

Sos. — Meministin'  me  gravidam,  et  mihi  te  maximo  opere  edicere, 
Si  puellam  parerem  nolle  tolli  ? 

Chre. —  Scio  quid  feceris  : 

Sustulisti. 

Syr. —         Sic  est  factum  :  minor  ergo  herus  damno  auctus  est. 

Sos. — Minime  :  sed  erat  hie  Gorinthia  anus  haud  impura  :  ei  dedi 
Exponendam. 

Chre. —  0  Jupiter,  tantam  esse  in  animo  inscitiam  ! 

Sos. — Peril :  quid  ego  feci  ? 

Chre. —  Rogitas  ? 


82  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Sos. —  If  I've  transgressed, 

Ignorance  I  plead. 

Chre. —  Should  you  deny,  I  know  that  you, 

Void  of  knowledge,  void  of  prudence,  all  things  speak  and  do. 
Here  what  folly  you've  discovered !     If,  without  delay, 
You  had  only  done  my  will,  the  child  were  put  away, 
Not  to  death  in  words  alone,  with  hope  of  saving  life. 
But  so  be  it:  I  forgive  the  mother  and  the  wife. 
How  short-sighted  you  have  been  !     What  hoped  you  thus  to  gain  ? 
Now  your  child  you've  yielded  to  a  woman  who,  'tis  plain. 
Will  through  you  advantage  reap,  or  sell  her  as  a  slave. 
And  you  thought,  I  fancy:  *'  Let  her  live,  'tis  all  I  crave." 
Hope  you  much  from  those  who  right,  nor  wrong,  nor  reason  know, 
Caring  nothing  for  the  way  that  anything  may  go  ? 

Sos. — Chromes,  I  confess  my  sin,  but  this  I  would  implore  : 
Being  older  much  than  I,  you  would  excuse  the  more, 
Calling  on  your  love  my  foolish  actions  to  repair. 

Chre. — Well,  Sesostra,  be  it  so ;  such  folly,  though,  to  spare 
Might  incite  to  further  wrong.     But,  whatsoe'er  they  be. 
Reasons  for  it  give  me. 

Sos. —  Superstitious  all,  are  we. 

Therefore,  with  the  child,  I  gave  a  ring  from  off  my  hand. 
Which  was  fasten'd  to  its  dress,  as  I  had  giv'n  command : 
So,  if  die  it  must,  't  would  have  a  portion  of  our  gold. 

Chre. — Right  was  this  :  you  saved  yourself  and  child. 

Sos. —  The  ring  behold  ! 

Chre. — Whence  received  ? 

Sos. —  The  maiden  brought  by  Bacchis  here. 

Syr.  {apart). —  Ahem. 

Chre. — Said  she  aught '? 


I 


Meautontimorumenos.  83 

Sos. —  Si  peccavi  mi  Ghreme, 

Insciens  feci. 

C/ire. —  Id  equidem  ego,  si  tu  neges,  certo  scio, 

Te  inscientem  atque  imprudentem  dicere  ac  facere  omnia  ; 
Tot  peccata  in  hac  re  ostendis :  nam  jam  primum,  si  meum 
Imperium  exequi  voluisses,  interemptam  oportuit, 
Non  simulare  mortem  verbis,  re  ipsa  spem  vitae  dare. 
At  id  omitto  :  misericordia,  animus  maturnus  :  sino. 
Quam  bene  vero  abs  te  prospectum'st !  quid  voluisti  ?     Cogita. 
Nempe  anui  illi  prodita  abs  te  filia'st  planissime, 
Per  te  vel  uti  quaestum  faceret  vel  uti  veniret  palam. 
Credo  id  cogitasti :  quidvis  satis  est,  dum  vivat  modo. 
Quid  cum  illis  agas,  qui  neque  jus  neque  bonum  atque  aequum  sciunt. 
Melius  pejus,  prosit  obsit,  nil  vident,  nisi  quod  lubet  ? 

Sos. — Mi  Ghreme,  peccavi,  fateor  ;  Vincor  :  nunc  hoc  te  obsecro, 
Quanto  tu  me  es  annis  gravior,  tanto  es  ignoscentior, 
Ut  meae  stultitiae  in  justitia  tua  sit  aliquid  praesidi. 

Chre. — Scilicet  equidem  istuc  factum  ignoscam  ;  Verum,  Sostrata, 
Male  docet  te  raea  facilitas  multa ;  sed  istuc  quidquid  est, 
Qua  hoc  occeptum'st  causa  loquere. 

Sos. —  Ut  stultae  et  miserae  omnes  sumus 

Religiosae:  cum  exponendam  do  illi,  de  digito,  anulura 
Detraho  et  eum  dico  ut  una  cum  puella  exponeret. 
Si  moreretur,  ne  expers  partis  esset  de  nostris  bonis. 

C/ire. — Istuc  recte :  conservasti  te  atque  illam. 

.S"^^. —  Is  hie  est  anulus. 

C/ire. — Unde  babes  ? 

Sos. —  Quam  Bacchis  secum  adduxit  adolescentulam, 

Syr.—  Hem. 

CAre. — Quid  ilia  narrat  ? 


84  Tlie  Self-  Tormentor. 

Sos. —  About  to  bathe,  she  gave  to  me  the  gem, 

"Wliich,  at  fust,  I  noticed  not,  but  soon,  on  closer  view, 
Recognized  and  hither  ran. 

C/ue. —  And  what  now  fancy  you, 

Or  about  her  know  ? 

Sos. —  Why  naught.     Of  her  you  miglit  inquire, 

And,  perhaps,  miglit  learn. 

Svr.  {apart). —  More  hope  I  see  than  I  desire, 

That  she's  surely  ours. 

C/ire. —  And  lives  the  dame? 

Sos. —  I  cannot  tell. 

Chre. — What  avowed  she,  then?  • 

Sos. —  That  she  had  done  my  bidding  well. 

Chre. — Give  her  name,  that  she  be  sought. 

Sos. —  'Twas  Philtera,  I  hear. 

Syr.  {apart). — She,  herself,  and  will  be  found  and  I  be  lost. 

Chre. —  Then,  dear, 

Follow  me. 

Sos. —    All  works  beyond  my  hope.     How  much  I  feared 
Finding  you  as  when  you  vow'd  the  child  should  not  be  reared. 

Chre. — Oft  his  wish '  man  loses ;  always  when  the  Fates  forbid  ; 
Now  a  daughter  I  desire  ;  of  one  would  once  be  rid.  {Exit  Chre  &-  Sos.) 

Syr. — If  I'm  not  much  deceived,  misfortune,  now,  is  very  close  at  hand. 
And  this  affair  compels  my  forces  in  a  narrow  pass  to  stand. 
Unless  I  keep  my  master  unaware  that  Bacchis  holds  his  son. 
To  get  the  money  that  I  hoped  ;  or  him  to  play  a  trick  upon, 
Were  vain  ;  and  gladly  now  with  well-protected  flank  would  I  retreat. 
How  sore  I  feel  that  e'en  while  seizing  such  a  prize  I  should  be  beat ! 
What  shall  I  do  ?     What  now  contrive?     'Tis  needful  I  begin  again. 
There's  naught  so  difficult  to  find,  but  that  by  search  we  may  obtain. 


I 


Heautontimorumenos.  85 

Sos. —  Ea  lavatum  duin  it,  servanduiu  uiilii  dedit. 

Animum  non  adverti  primum :  sed  postquam  aspexi  ilico 
Cognovi,  ad  le  exilui. 

C/ire. —  Quid  nunc  suspicare  aut  invenis 

De  ilia  ? 

Sos. — Nescio,  nisi  ut  ex  ipsa  quaeras,  unde  hunc  habuerit, 
Si  potis  est  rei)enn. 

Syr. —  Interii  :  plus  spei  video  quam  volo. 

Nostra'st  si  ita'st. 

Chrc. —        Vivitne  ilia  cui  tu  dederas  ? 

Sos. —  Nescio. 

Ch?'e. — Quid  renuntiavit  olim  ? 

Sos. —  Fecisseid  quod  jusseram. 

Ckre. — Nomen  mulieris  cedo  quod  sit,  ut  quaeratur. 

Sos.—  Philtera. 

^;-.  — Ipsa'st,  mirum  ni  ilia  salva'st  et  ego  perii. 

Chre. —  Sostrata 

Sequere  me  intro  liac. 

Sos. —  Ut  praeter  spem  evenit !  quam  timui  male, 

Ne  nunc  animo  esses  duro,  ut  olim  in  tollendo,  Chreme ! 

Chre. — Non  licet  hominem  esse  saepe  ita  ut  vult,  si  res  non  sinit. 
Nunc  ita  tempus  fert,  mi  ut  cupiam  filiam  ;  olim  nil  minus. 

Syr. — Nisi  me  animus  fallit,  hand  multum  a  me  aberit  infortunium : 
Ita  hac  re  in  angustum  oppido  nunc  meae  coguntur  copiae : 
Nisi  aliquid  video,  ne  esse  amicam  hanc  gnati  resciscat  senex. 
Nam  quod  de  argento  sperem  aut  posse  postulem  me  fallere. 
Nil  est :  triumpho,  si  licet  me  latere  tecto  abscedere. 
Crucior  bolum  mihi  tantum  ereptum  tam  desubito  e  faucibus. 
Quid  agam?  aut  quid  comminiscar?  ratio  de  integro  ineunda'st  mihi. 
Nil  tam  difficile'st,  quin  quaerendo  invesligari  possiet. 


86  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Suppose  I  thus  begin?     'Twere  vain.     How,  then,  if  so?     The  same 

'twould  be. 
But  this  will  do.     It  cannot !  no  !     But  yes,  'tis  good,  'tis  best,  I  see. 
By  Hercules  !  I  think  this  flown-ofT  money  will  come  back  to  me. 


SCENE  V. 

Glinia.  Syrus. 

Ch'n. — 'Twill  be  impossible  henceforth  for  ills  of  any  kind 
To  cause  me  grief,  so  sating  is  the  joy  that  fills  my  mind. 
Now  to  my  sire  I'll  go  and  show  more  prudence  than  he  seeks. 

Syr.  {aside). — I'm  not  deceived  ;  the  maid  is  own'd  ;  'tis  in  the  words 
he  speaks. 
{^0  Clin)  It  gives  me  joy  that  what  took  place  has  done  you  so  much  good. 

Clin. — Ah,  Syrus,  heard  you  all  ? 

Syr. —  Why  not  ?     I  who  in  council  stood. 

Clin. — To  whom  has  Fortune  kinder  been  than  me  ? 

Syr. —  To  none  it  could. 

Clin. — The  gods  will  witness  bear  that  not  for  self  so  much,  indeed, 
I  now  rejoice  as  'tis  for  her  who  merits  honor's  mead. 

Syr. — That  I  believe ;  but  Glinia,  grant  to  me  a  little  aid, 
For  Glitipho's  affair  needs  care,  and  must  at  rest  be  laid, 
Lest  his  amour  with  Bacchis  spread. 

Clin. —  Oh  Jove  ! 

Syr. —  Your  ardor  stay. 

Clin. — Antiphila  will  marry  me. 


(:. 


I 


Seautontirmrumenos.  87 

Quid  si  hoc  nunc  sic  incipiam  ?  nil  est.     Quid,  sic  ?  tantundem  egero. 
At  sic  opinor,  non  potest ;  iramo  optime.     Euge  !  liabeo  optimam 
Retraham  hercle,  opinor,  ad  me  idem  illud  fugitivum  argentum  tamen. 


SCENA  V. 


Clinia.   Syrus. 


C/in. — Nulla  mihi  res  posthac  potest  jam  intervenire  tanta. 
Quae  mi  aegritudinem  afferat :  tanta  haec  laetitia  oborta'st. 
Dedo  patri  me  nunc  jam,  ut  frugalior  sim  quam  vult. 

Syr. — Nil  me  fefellit:  cognita'st  quantum  audio  hujus  verba. 
Istuc  tibi  ex  sententia  tua  obtigisse  laetor. 

C/i'n. — 0  mi  Syre,  audisti  obsecro  ? 

Syr. —  Quid  ni  ?  qui  usque  una  adfuerim. 

C/in. — Guiquam  aeque  audisti  commode  quidquam  evenisse. 

Syr.—  Nulli. 

Clin. — Atque  ita  me  di  ament,  ut  ego  nunc  non  tam  meapte  causa 
Laetor  quam  illius  :  quam  ego  scio  esse  honore  quovis  dignam. 

Syr. — Ita  credo  ;  sed  nunc,  Clinia,  age,  da  te  mihi  vicissim  : 
Nam  amici  quoque  res  est  videnda  in  tuto  ut  collocetur, 
Nequid  de  amica  nunc  senex. 

Ch'n. —  0  Jupiter  ! 

Syr. —  Quiesce. 

Ch'n. — Antiphila  mea  nubet  mihi. 


88  The  Self -'Tormentor. 

Syr. —  Why  interrupt  me,  pray  ? 

Clin. — What  shall  I  do?     I'm  filled  with  joy  ;  bear  with  me,  please. 

Syr.—  I'd  fain. 

Clt7i. — We've  reached  the  mansions  of  the  gods ! 

Syr. —  It  seems  I  speak  in  vain. 

Clin. — Nay  speak  ;  I'll  hear. 

^7'. —  But  nothing  do. 

Clin. —  Aye,  all. 

Syr. —  Well  then,  I  said  : 

That  Clitipho's  affair  needs  care,  and  must  at  rest  be  laid, 
Now,  if  you  quit  my  master's  house  and  there  this  Bacchis  leave, 
Her  to  be  wench  of  Clitipho,  his  father  will  perceive. 
But  if  you  take  her  thence,  what's  hid,  remains  a  hidden  scheme. 

Clin. — Naught,  Syrus,  naught  could  more  my  wish  to  mai'ry  ill  beseem.. 
What  to  my  father  say  ?     You  comprehend  ? 

Syr. —  Why  not,  pray, why  ? 

Clin. — What  shall  I  say  ?     What  pretext  give  ? 

Syr. —  I  would  not  bid  you  lie : 

Be  true  •,  tell  how  the  matter  stands. 

Clin.—  What's  that  ? 

Syr. —  Why,  I  propose 

You  say  Antiphila  is  yours,  and  Bacchis  Clitipho's. 

Clin. — Well,  this  is  good  and  just  and  easy  to  be  done,  forsooth, 
But  then,  perhaps,  you'll  have  me  bid  my  father  hide  the  truth, 
From  your  old  lord  ? 

Syr. —  Nay,  bid  him  tell  my  master  all. 

CHji. —  Ahem, 

But  sane  and  sober  are  you  ?     Thus  you'd  Clitipho  condemn. 
For  how,  indeed,  could  he  be  safe  ?     Pray,  make  it  known. 

Syr. — My  device  now  wins  the  palm  ;  and  here,  with  pride  full-blown 


Heautoniimorumenos.  89 

Syr. —  Sicin'  milii  interloquere  ? 

Clm. — Quid  faciam  ?     Syre  mi,  gaudeo ;  fer  me. 

^7". —  Fero  hercle  vero. 

Clin. — Dcorum  vitam  apti  sumus. 

Syr. —  Frustra  operam,  opinor,  sumo. 

Clin. — Loquere  :  audio. 

Syr. —  At  jam  hoc  non  agis. 

Clin. —  Agam. 

Syr. —  Videndum'st  inquam, 

Amici  quoque  res,  Clinia,  tui  in  tuto  ut  coUocetur. 
Nam  si  nunc  a  nobis  abis  et  Bacchidem  hie  relinquis, 
Senex  resciscet  ihco  esse  amicam  hanc  Clitiphonis  : 
Si  abduxeris,  celabitur,  itidem  ut  celata  adhuc  est. 

Clin. — At  enim  istoc  nil  est  magis,  Syre,  meis  nuptiis  adversum. 
Nam  quo  ore  appellabo  patrem  ?  tenes  quid  dicam  ? 

Syr. —  Quid  ni  ? 

Clin. — Quid  dicam  ?     Quam  causam  afferam  ? 

Syr. —  Quin  nolo  mentiare. 

Aperte  ita  ut  res  sese  habet,  narrato. 

Clin. —  Quid  ais  ? 

Syr. —  Jubeo : 

Illam  te  amare  et  velle  uxorem,  hanc  esse  Clitiphonis. 

Clin. — Bonam  atque  justam  rem  oppido  imperas,  et  factu  facilem. 
Et  scilicet  jam  me  hoc  voles  patrem  exorare  ut  celet 
Senem  vostrum  ? 

Syr. —  Immo  ut  recta  via  rem  narret  ordine  omnem. 

Clin. —  Hem, 

Satin'  sanus  es  aut  sobrius  ?  tu  quidem  ilium  plane  perdis. 
Nam  qui  ille  poterit  esse  in  tuto  ?   die  mihi. 

Syr. — Huic  equidem  consilio  palmam  do :  hie  mi  magnifice  effero ; 


90  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Stand  I  claiming  wondrous  genius,  and  such  craft  display, 

That  by  truth  I  cheat  them  both ;  and  when  your  chief  shall  say : 

Bacchis,  Glitipho,  admires,  my  chief  will  scorn  the  tale. 

CHn. — By  this  very  means  my  hope  of  marriage  sure  must  fail, 
For,  then  thinking  Bacchis  mine,  his  daughter  he'll  refuse  ; 
But  my  fate  you  care  not  for,  if  Glitipho  naught  lose. 

Syr. — Zounds,  man !  Think  you,  for  a  year,  I'd  have  you  wear  this  mask  ? 
Just  one  day  will  serve,  the  gold  to  win  ;  'tis  all  I  ask, 

Clin. — So  ?     But  what  would  happen  should  his  father  learn  it  all? 

Syr. — Ask  me  this :  "  But  what  would  happen  should  the  sky  now  fall  ?  " 

Clin. — Doubt  I  what  to  do. 

Syr. —  As  if,  indeed,  you  could  no  more 

Free  yourself  from  this,  and  all  things,  as  they  were,  restore. 

Clin. — 'Tis  enough  ;  let  Bacchis  come. 

Syr. —  Behold  her  at  the  door. 


SCENE  VI. 

Bacchis.  Clinia.  Syrus.    Phrygia.  Dromo. 

Bac. — Too  often  have  the  words  of  Syrus  brought  me  here  in  vain. 
Ten  promised  minae  to  receive  from  him  ;  but  if  again 
I  be  deceived,  thenceforth,  though  oft  he  bid,  he'll  bid  for  naught ; 
Or  should  I  say  just  when  I  might  by  Glitipho  be  sought. 
And  bid  him  Glitipho  invite,  e'en  GUtipho  upon  the  rack 
I'll  place  and  cheat,  so  Syrus  may  atone  with  smarting  back. 

Clin,  {to  Syr.) — A  pretty  promise  this  for  you. 


Heautontimorumenos.  91 

Qui  vim  tantam  in  me  et  potestatam  habeam  tantae  astutiae, 
Vera  dicendo  ut  eos  ambos  fallam ;  ut  cum  narrot  senex 
Voster  nostro  esse  istam  amicam  gnati,  non  credat  tamen. 

C/in. — At  enim  spem  istoc  pacto  rursiun  nuptiarum  omnem  eripis  : 
Nam  dum  amicam  banc  meam  esse  credet,  non  committet  fdiam. 
Tu  fors  quid  me  fiat  parvi  pendis,  dum  illi  consulas. 

Syr. — Quid,  malum,  me  aetatem  censes  velle  id  assimularier  ? 
Unus  est  dies,  dum  argentum  eripio  :  pax,  nil  amplius. 

C/i'n. — Tantum  sat  babes  ?  quid  turn  quaeso,  si  hoc  pater  resciverit  ? 

Syr. — Quid  si  redeo  ad  illos  qui  aiunt:  "Quid  si  nunc  caelum  ruat?" 

C/iu. — Metuo  quid  agam. 

Syr. —  Metuis  ?  quasi  non  ea  potestas  sit  tua, 

Quo  veils  in  tempore  ut  te  exsolvas,  rem  facias  palam. 

Clin. — Age,  age,  traducatur  Bacchis. 

Syr. —  Optime  :  ipsa  exit  foras. 


SGENA  VI. 

Bacchis.  Clinia.  Syrus.  Phrygia.  Dromo. 

Bac. — Satis  pol  proterve  me  Syri  promissa  buc  induxerunt, 
Decern  minas  quas  mibi  dare  pollicitus't :  quod  si  is  nunc  me 
Deceperit,  saepe  obsecrans  me  ut  veniam,  frustra  veniet : 
Aut  cum  venturam  dixero  et  constituero,  cum  is  certe 
Renuntiarit,  Glitipho  cum  in  spe  pendebit  animi : 
Decipiam  ac  non  veniam,  Syrus  mibi  tergo  poenas  pendet. 

Clin. — Satis  scite  promittit  tibi. 


92  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Syr.  (Jo  Cli?i.') —  A  joke,  think  you,  'twill  prove? 

If  I  heed  not,  she'll  flounce. 

Bac. —  What  stupid  folks  !     I'll  make  them  move, 

Phrygia,  you  marked  the  house  which  we  were  told  upon  the  way, 
Charinus  own'd  ? 

F/iry. —  Aye,  well. 

Bac. —  That  on  the  right  ? 

Fhry. —  Right  well,  I  say. 

Bac. — Run  thither  quick  !     A  soldier  there  will  keep  the  feast  to-day, 

Syr.  (apart) — Now  what  means  this  ? 

Bac. —  Tell  him  I'm  here  by  force  ;  kept  under  eye, 

But  that  I  mean  to  cheat  my  guards,  and  to  his  cover  fly. 

Syr. — Stay,  Bacchis,  stay  !     I'm  ruin'd  else ;  where  goes  this  maid  ? 
Explain. 
Bid  her  come  back  ! 

Bac. —  Go,  go  ! 

Syr. —  Your  money  's  here. 

Bac. —  Then  I'll  remain. 

Syr. — 'Tis  ready  now. 

Bac. —  Seem  I  in  haste  ? 

Syr. —  But  know  you  what  to  do  ? 

Bac.—SNeW,  what  ? 

^7'. —  First  go  to  Menedemus'  house  ;  your  servants,  too, 

Transfer. 

Bac. —  What  mean  you,  knave  ? 

Syr. —  Who  ?     I  ?     I'm  coining  money  now 

For  you. 

Bac. —         You  deem  me  fit  to  mock  ? 

Syr. —  The  truth  I  nmst  avow. 

Bac. — Have  I,  then,  aught  to  do  with  you  ? 


Heautontimorumenos.  93 

Syr. —  Atqui  tu  banc  jocari  credis  ? 

Faciei  nisi  caveo. 

Bac. —  Dormiunt :  ego  pol  istos  commovebo. 

Mea  Pbrygia,  audistin',  modo  iste  bomo  quam  vlllam  demonstavit 
Charini  ? 

Fhry. —         Audivi. 

Bac. —  Proximam  esse  buic  fundo  ad  dextram  ? 

Ph?y. —  Memini. 

Bac. — Curriculo  percurre  :  apud  eum  miles  Dionysia  agitat : 

Syr. — Quid  haec  coeptat  ? 

Bac. —  Die  me  hie  oppido  esse  invitam  atqiie  asservari  : 

Verum  aliquo  pacto  verba  me  his  daturum  esse  et  venturam. 

Syr. — Perii  bercle !     Baccbis,  mane  mane  :  quo  mittis  istanc,  quaeso  ? 
Jube  maneat. 

Bac—  I ! 

Syr. —  Quin  est  paratum  argentum. 

Bac. —  Quin  ego  maneo. 

Syr. — Atqui  jam  dabitur. 

Bac. —  Ut  lubet :  num  ego  insto  ? 

Syr. —  At  scin'  quid  sodes  ? 

Bac.—Q.n\A  ? 

Syr. —  Transeundum'st  nunc  tibi  ad  Menedemum  et  tua  pompa 

Eo  traducenda'st. 

Bac. —  Quam  rem  agis,  scelus  '? 

Syr. —  Egone  ?     Argentum  cudo, 

Quod  tibi  dem. 

Bac. —  Dignam  me  putas,  quam  illudas  ? 

Syr. —  Non  est  temere. 

Bac. — Etiam  ne  tecum  bic  res  mibi'st. 


94  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Syr. —  I  have  the  gold  you  seek. 

Bac. — Then  let  us  go. 

Syr. —  Proceed.     Ho,Dromo! 

Dro.  {etitering)—  Who  calls  ? 

Syr. —  I- 

Dro. —  Well,  speak. 

Syr. — Conduct  hence  Bacchis'  maids  to  your  old  master's  dwelling,  sir. 

Z>rt?.— What  for  ? 

Syr. —  No  matter  what ;  and  all  their  luggage  there  transfer  ; 

And  Ghremes  then  will  keep  his  household  for  a  lighter  sum. 
Yet  knows  he  not  this  gain  will  be  a  loss  in  time  to  come, 
But  what  you  know,  if  wise,  you'll  cease  to  know. 

Dro. —  You'll  call  me  dumb. 


Heautontimorumenos.  95 

Syr. —  Minime  ;  tuum  tibi  reddo. 

Bac. — Eatur. 

Syr. —  Sequere  hac.     Heus,  Dromo  ! 

Dro. —  Quis  me  vnlt  ? 

Syr. —  Syrus. 

Dro. —  Quid  est  rei  ? 

Syr. — Ancillas  omnes  Bacchidis  traduce  hue  ad  vos  propere. 

I^ro. — Quamobreni  ? 

Syr. —  Ne  quaeras  :  efferant  quae  secum  hue  attulerunt. 

Sperabit  sumptum  sibi  senex  levatum  esse  harum  abitu  : 
Ne  ille  baud  scit,  hoc  paulum  lucri  quantum  ei  damni  apportet. 
Tu  nescis  id  quod  scis,  Dromo,  si  sapies. 

Z)ro.  —  Mutum  dices. 


ACT    IV. 

SCENE  I. 
Chremes.  Syrus. 

Chre. — So  help  the  gods,  when  Menedemus  I  perceive 
Thus  made  to  suffer  ills,  I  cannot  else  than  grieve. 
Now  must  he  feed  this  wench  with  all  her  retinue. 
At  first  he  will  not  mind  the  cost,  'tis  very  true, 
So  much  he  longs  to  have  his  son  at  home  once  more  ; 
But  when  he  comes  to  find  great  drafts  upon  his  store 
Must  every  day  be  made,  nor  hope  to  see  the  end. 
He'll  wish  some  fate  again  his  son  from  home  may  send. 
By  luck  here  Syrus  comes. 

Syr.  {to  himself) —  I'll  now  speak. 

Chre. —  Ho,  Syrus  ! 

Syr.—  Well. 

Chre. — What  news,  I  pray  ? 

Syr. —  I  longed  to  meet  you,  sir,  and  tell. 

Chre. — You  act  as  if  the  dotard  had  been  wrought  upon. 

Syr. — In  what  we  lately  plann'd  ?     No  sooner  said  than  done. 

Chre.—\VL  truth  ? 

Syr. —  Forsooth. 

Chre. —  By  Hercules,  I  must  allow 


ACTUS    IV. 

SGENA  I. 
Ghremes,  Syrus. 

Chre. — Ita  me  di  amabunt,  ut  nunc  Menedemi  vicem 
Miseret  me  :  tantum  devenisse  ad  eum  mali. 
Illancine  mulierum  alere  cum  ilia  familia  ! 
Etsi  scio,  hosce  aliquot  dies  non  sentiet : 
Ita  magno  desiderio  fuit  ei  filius. 
Verum  ubi  videbit  tantos  sibi  sumptus  domi 
Quotidianos  fieri,  nee  fieri  modum, 
Optabit  rursum  ut  abeat  ab  se  filius. 
Syrum  optume  eccum. 

Syr. —  Gesso  hunc  adoriri  ? 

Chre. —  Syre  ! 

Syr. —  Hem. 

C//;r.— Quid  est  ? 

Syr. —  Te  mi  ipsum  jam  dudum  optabam  dan. 

Chre. — Videre  egisse  jam  nescio  quid  cum  sene. 

Syr. — De  illo  quod  dudum  ?  dictum  ac  factum  reddidi. 

C/ir^.— Bonan'  fide  ? 

Syr. —  Bona. 

Chre. —  Hercle  non  possum  pati, 


98  Tlie  Self- Tormentor. 

My  hand  to  pat  your  head ;  good  Syrus,  hither  now ; 
I  promise  you  reward,  and  gladly,  too,  indeed. 

Syr. — But  if  you  knew  how  well  my  genius  served  my  need. 

Chre. — Oh  fie,  sir,  would  you  boast  when  Luck  has  led  the  way  ? 

Syr. — By  Hercules,  I  speak  the  truih. 

Chre. —  What  would  you  say  ? 

Syr. — Well,  Menedemus  knows  from  Clinia  that  your  son 
Is  deep  in  love  with  Bacchis,  sir,  and  that  to  shun 
Discovery,  he  has  brought  her  from  your  house  to  his. 

C//r^.— That's  good. 

Syr. —  You  think  so. 

Chre. —  Wondrous  good. 

Syr. —  If  you  kneM'  this — 

But  list  to  what  remains,  which  is  still  better,  e'en. 
He'll  tell  his  father  that  your  daughter  he  has  seen  ; 
And  that  her  form  has  kindled  in  his  heart  a  flamej 
And  she  must  be  his  wife. 

Chre. —  She,  just  now  found  ? 

Syr. —  The  game. 

And  will  demand  her  soon. 

Chre. —  Why,  Syrus,  this,  I  pray  ? 

For  naught  I  comprehend. 

Syr. —  How  dull  you  are  to-day  ! 

Chre. — Perhaps. 

Syr. —  To  wed,  his  father  must  the  means  supply. 

For  clothes  and  jewels  that — you  know  ? 

Chre. —  That  he  may  buy  ? 

Syr. — Of  course. 

Chre. —  But  I'll  ne'er  give  nor  plight  my  daughter,  sir, 

^r.— Not  ?     Why  ? 


Heautontimorumenos,  99 

Quin  tibi  caput  demulceam  :  accede  hue,  Syre  : 
Faciam  boni  tibi  aliquid  pro  ista  re,  ac  lubens. 

Syr. — At  si  scias  quam  scite  in  mentem  venerit. 

Chre. — Vah  !  gloriare  evenisse  ex  sententia  ? 

Syr. — Nou  hercle  vero,  verum  dico. 

Chre. —  Die  quid  est. 

Syr. — Tui  Glitiphonis  esse  amicam  banc  Bacchidem 
Menedemo  dixit  Clinia,  et  ea  gratia 
Secum  adduxisse,  ne  tu  id  persentisceres. 

Chre. — Probe. 

Syr. —  Die  sodes. 

Chre. —  Nimium,  inquam. 

Syr. —  Immo  si  scias 

Sed  porro  ausculta,  quod  super  est  fallaciae. 
Sese  ipse  dicit  tuam  vidisse  filiam  : 
Ejus  sibi  complacitam  formam,  postquam  aspexerit : 
Hanc  cupere  uxorem. 

Chre. —  Modone  quae  inventa  'st  ? 

Syr. —  Earn  : 

Et  quidem  jubebit  posci. 

Chre. —  Quamobrem  istuc,  Syre  ? 

Nam  prorsum  nil  intelligo. 

Syr. —  Vah,  tardus  es. 

Chre. — Fortasse. 

Syr. —  Argentum  dabitur  ei  ad  nuptias, 

Aurum  atque  vestem  qui — tenesne  ? 

Chre, —  Gomparet  ? 

Syr. — Id  ipsum. 

Chre. —  At  ego  ilU  neque  do  neque  despondeo. 

Syr. — Non  ?  quam  obrem  ? 


100  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Chre. —  Ask  why  ?     To  such  a  man  ? 

Syr. —  As  you  prefer. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  for  good,  the  maiden  you  must  send, 
But  just  pretend. 

CJire. —  'Tis  not  my  practice  to  pretend. 

Now  mind  your  own  affairs,  and  please  let  mine  alone. 
Zounds  !     Plight  to  him  with  whom  I  would  not  make  her  one  ? 

Syr. — I  thought  you  might. 

Chre. —  Nay,  nay. 

Syr. —  It  might  be  nicely  done. 

And  this  is  just  the  plot  which,  at  your  late  command, 
I  had  devised. 

Chre.—  No  doubt. 

Syr. —  And  what  I  took  in  hand, 

I've  managed  for  the  best. 

Chre. —  And  while,  indeed,  I  pray 

You  may  perfect  your  plot,  please  choose  some  other  way. 

Syr. — Another  way  we'll  seek  ;  but  that  affair  to  you 
Made  known  by  me,  about  the  sum  to  Bacchis  due. 
It,  doubtless,  should  be  paid  ;  nor  will  you,  to  evade, 
Reply  :  What's  that  to  me  ?     To  me  was  this  sum  paid  ? 
Sought  I  the  loan  ?     Can  she  my  daughter  justly  hold, 
'Gainst  my  desire  ?         Oh,  'tis  too  true,  as  oft  we're  told, 
That  law,  too  well  enforced,  may  rank  injustice  do. 

Chre. — Thus  could  I  hardly  act.  • 

Syr. —  Some  might,  but,  sir,  not  you, 

Whose  wealth  and  mode  of  life  are  known  to  every  one. 

Chre. — I'll  take  to  her  the  gold.  \ 

Syr. —  Nay,  rather  bid  your  son 

Do  this. 


Heautontimorumenos.  101 

Chre. —  Quamobrem  ?  me  rogas  ?  homini  ? 

Syr—  Ut  lubet 

Non  ego  dicebam  in  perpetuum  ut  illam  illi  dares, 
Veram  ut  simulares. 

Chre.—  Non  mea'st  simulatio  : 

Ita  tu  istaec  tua  misceto,  ne  me  admisceas. 
Ego  cui  daturus  non  sum,  ut  ti  despondeam  ? 

Syr. — Credebam . 

C/ire. —  Minime. 

Syr. —  Scite  poterat  fieri : 

Et  ego  hoc,  quia  dudum  tu  tanto  opere  jusseras, 
Eo  coepi. 

Chre. —         Credo. 

Syr. —  Ceterum  equidem  istue,  Chreme, 

Aequi  bonique  facio. 

Chre. —  Atqui  quam  maxime 

Volo  te  dare  operam  ut  fiat,  verum  alia  via. 

Syr. — Fiat,  quaeratur  aliquid.     Sed  illud  quod  tibi 
Dixi  de  argento,  quod  ista  debet  Bacchidi, 
Id  nunc  reddendum  'st  illi :  neque  tu  scilicet 
Eo  nunc  confugies  :  "  quid  mea  ?  num  mihi  datum'st  ? 
Nuni  jussi  ?  num  ilia  oppignerare  filiam 
Meam  me  invito  potuit  ?  "     Verum  illud,  Chreme, 
Dicunt :  "jus  summum  saepe  summa'st  mahtia." 

Chre. — Hand  faciam. 

Syr. —  Immo  aliis,  si  licet,  tibi  non  licet. 

Omnes  te  in  lauta  esse  et  bene  aucta  re  putant. 

Chre. — Quin  egomet  jam  ad  eam  deferam. 

Syr. —  Immo  filium 

Jube  potius. 


102  The  Self- Torments. 

Chre. —  And  why  ? 

Syr. —  Because  'twould  tlien  be  very  clear 

That  Bacchis  has  his  love. 

Ch7-e. —  How  so  ? 

Syr. —  Why,  'twould  appear 

By  far  more  like  to  be,  if  he  upon  her  wait. 
Besides,  what  I  desire  'twill  much  facilitate. 
But  here's  your  son  ;  go,  bring  the  gold. 

Chre. —  I'll  bring  it  straight. 


SCENE  11. 

Glitipho.    Syrus. 

cut. — However  light  the  task,  a  load  it  may  be  made. 
If,  with  reluctance  met :  to  wit,  this  promenade 
Not  irksome  in  itself,  has  caused  me  greatest  pain  ; 
And  naught  now  frets  me  more  than  fear  that,  once  again, 
I  may  be  sent  away,  lest  Bacchis  I  should  see. 
Oh  Syrus,  may  the  gods,  whate'er  their  number  be, 
Both  you  and  all  your  cursed  stratagems  destroy  ! 
Your  time,  in  things  like  these,  you  constantly  employ 
To  torture  me. 

Syr. —  Go,  hang  youself,  as  now  you  ought. 

Your  want  of  sense  had  well  nigh  ruin  on  me  brought. 

cut. — I  wish  it  had,  as  you  deserve. 

Syr. —  Deserve  ?     And  how  ? 


Heaxdontimorumenos.  103 

Chre. —  Quamobrem  ? 

Syr. —  Quia  enim  in  hunc  suspicio'st 

Translata  amoris. 

Chre. —  Quid  turn  ? 

Syr. —  Quia  videbitur 

Magis  veri  simile  id  esse,  cum  liic  illi  dabit : 
Et  simul  conficiam  facilius  ego  quod  volo. 
Ipse  adeo  adest :  abi,  effer  argentum. 

Chre. —  Eflfero. 


SCENA  II. 

Clitipho.    Syrus. 

cut. — Nulla'st  tarn  facilis  res,  quin  difficilis  siet, 
Quam  invitus  facias.     Vel  me  haec  deambulatio, 
Quam  non  laboriosa,  ad  languorum  dedit. 
Nee  quicquam  magis  nunc  metuo  quam  ne  denuo 
Miser  aliquo  extrudar  hinc,  ne  accedam  ad  Bacchidem. 
Ut  te  quidem  di  deaeque  omnes  quantum'st  cum  tuo, 
Syre,  istoc  invento  cumque  incepto  perduint ! 
Hujus  modi  mihi  res  semper  comminiscere, 
Ubi  me  excarnifices. 

Syr. —  I  tu  hinc  quo  dignus  es  ; 

Quam  pene  tua  me  perdidit  protervitas  ! 

cut. — Vellem  hercle  factum,  ita  meritu's. 

Syr. —  Meritus  ?  quo  modo  ? 


1 04  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

I'm  glad  to  hear  just  what  you  thhik  of  me,  e'en  now 
Before  j^ou'd  touched  the  gold  which  I  came  here  to  pay. 

cut. — What  would  you  have  me  say  ?    You  went  off,  yesterday, 
And  Bacchis  hither  brought,  whom  I'm  forbid  to  see. 

Syr. — I'll  not  grow  mad.     But  do  you  know  where  now  may  be 
Your  Bacchis,  pray  ? 

cm.—  With  us  ? 

Syr.—  No. 

cut.—  Where  ? 

Syr. —  At  Clinia's,  sir. 

cut. — Alas  ! 

Syr. —  Cheer  up  ;  you  shall  now  take  the  gold  to  her, 

The  promised  gold.  ^ 

cut.—  Stuff.     Whence?  '^"^ 

Syr. —  Your  father's  purse,  forsooth. 

cut. — You're  joking  with  me  now. 

^7-.—  You'll  find  I  tell  the  truth. 

cut. — Then  I'm  a  lucky  man,  and  you  to  me  most  dear. 

Syr. — Your  father  comes  ;  beware.     Let  wonder  not  appear 
At  what  may  hap.     Accommodate  yourself  to  all. 
Do  what  he  bids,  and  let  your  words  be  few  and  small. 


I 


Heautoniimorumenos,  105 

Ne  me  istuc  prius  ex  te  audivisse  guadeo, 
Quam  argentuin  liaberes,  quod  daturus  jam  fui. 

cut. — Quid  igitur  dicam  tibi  vis  ?     Abiisti :  mihi 
Amicam  adduxti,  quam  non  licitum'st  tangere. 

Syr. — Jam  non  sum  iratus.     Sed  scin'  ubi  nunc  sit  tibi 
Tua  Bacchis  ? 

€lit. —  Apud  nos. 

Syr.—  Non. 

cut.—  Ubi  ergo  ? 

Syr. —  Apud  Cliniam. 

cut. — Perii. 

Syr. —  Bono  animo  es  :  jam  argentum  ad  eam  deferes, 

Quod  ei  poUicitu's. 

cut. —  Garris.     Unde  ? 

Syr. —  A  tuo  patre. 

cut. — Ludis  fortasse  me. 

Syr. —  Ipsa  re  experibere. 

cut. — Ne  ego  homo  sum  fortunatus  :  deamo  te,  Syre. 

Syr. — Sed  pater  egreditur :  cave  quicquam  admiratus  sis, 
Qua  causa  id  fiat :  obsecundato  in  loco  : 
Quod  imperabit  facito  :  loquitor  paucula. 


I 


106  The  Self- Tormentor. 


SCENE  III. 


Ghremes.   Glitipho.  Sybus. 


Chre.  {advancing) — ^Where's  Clitipho  ? 

Syr.  (Jo  cut.) —  Speak  sir  !     Call  out :  "  Vm  here." 

Cltt. —  Fniliere! 

Chre.  {to  Syr.) — You've  told  him  what  to  do  ? 

Syr. —  I've  made  the  matter  clear. 

Chre.  (to  cut.) — Take  this,  and  offer  it. 

Syr.  (to  cut.) —  Go,  stone  !     Why  halt  now,  dunce  ? 

Not  take  the  purse  ? 

cut. —  I  will,     {takes  it.) 

Syr. —  Now  follow  me,  at  once. 

And,  Ghremes,  here  remain  till  we  return,  I  pray. 
For  nothing  in  yon  house  can  cause  us  much  delay.  {Ex.  Syr.  afid  Clit.) 

Chre. — The  moneys  given  her,  to  just  ten  minae  'mount, 
Which  sum,  as  recompense  for  her  support,  I'll  count. 
For  dress  and  ornaments  must  others  quit  my  store  ; 
And  then  as  marriage  gift,  at  least  two  talents  more. 
How  oft  injustice  is  hy  use  to  justice  wrought. 
All  business  laying  by,  soon  some  one  must  be  sought 
To  whom,  at  last,  to  give  my  wealth  so  dearly  bought. 


Heautontimorumenos.  107 


SCENA  III. 


Ghremes.  Glitipho.  Syrus. 


Chre. — Ubi  Glitipho  nunc  est  ? 

Syr. —  Eccum  me,  inque. 

cut. —  Eccum  hie  tibi. 

Chre. — Quid  rei  esset  dixti  huic  ? 

Syr. —  Dixi  pleraque  omnia. 

Chre. — Gape  hoc  argentum  ac  defer. 

Syr. —  I !  quid  stas,  lapis  ? 

Quin  accipis  ? 

cut. —  .  Gedo  sane. 

Syr. —  Sequere  hac  me  ocius  ; 

Tu  hie  nos,  dum  eximus,  inlerea  opperibere  :    • 
Nam  nil  est  illic  quod  moremur  diutius. 

Chre. — Minas  quidem  jam  decern  habet  a  me  filia, 
Quas  pro  alimentis  esse  nunc  duco  datas  : 
Hasce  ornamentis  consequentur  alterae  : 
Porro  haec  talenta  dotis  apposcunt  duo, 
Quam  multa,  justa  injusta,  fiunt  moribus  ! 
Mihi  nunc  relictis  rebus  inveniundus  est 
Aliquis,  labore  inventa  mea  cui  dem  bona. 


108  The  Self- Tormentor. 


SCENE  IV. 
Menedemus.  Chremes. 

Men.  (to  Clit.,  withiii) — I'm   now   the   happiest  man   in   this   wide 
world,  my  dear, 
My  only  son,  thus  seeing  you  once  more  appear 
Yourself. 

Chre.  {apart) — He  errs. 

Men.  {seeing  Chre.) —  I  sought  you,  Chremes,  with  design 

To  beg  you  strive  to  save  my  son,  myself,  and  mine. 

C^r^.— What  shall  I  do  ? 

Men. —  To-day  your  daughter  came  to  life. 

Chre. — And  what  of  that  ? 

Men. —  My  Clinia  asks  her,  as  a  wife. 

Chre. — What  kind  of  man  are  you  ? 

Men. —  Why  ask  ? 

Chre. —  Have  you  forgot 

The  talk  we  had  some  time  ago  about  a  plot 
To  draw  some  money  from  your  purse  ? 

Men. —  Nay  ;  I  have  not. 

Chre. — 'Tis  this,  they're  now  about. 

Men. —  What's  this  you  say  to  me  ? 

This  woman  at  my  house,  to  Clitipho  must  be 
A  mistress  sure. 

Chre. —  'Tis  said,  and  you  the  tale  receive. 


Heautontimorumenos.  109 


SCENA  IV. 

Menedemus.   Chremes. 

Men. — Multo  omnium  nunc  me  fortunatissimum 
Factum  puto  esse,  gnate,  cum  te  intellego 
Resipisse. 

C/i/-e, —         Ut  errat. 

Men. —  Te  ipsum  quaerebam,  Chreme  : 

Serva,  quod  in  te  est,  filium  et  me  et  familiam. 

C/ire. — Cedo  quid  vis  faciam  ? 

Men. —  Invenisti  hodie  filiam. 

C/ire. — Quid  tum  ? 

Men. —  Hanc  uxorem  sibi  dari  vult  Clinia. 

C/ire. — Quaeso  quid  tu  hominis  es  ? 

Men. —  Quid  ? 

C/ire. —  Jamne  oblitus  es 

Inter  nos  quid  sit  dictum  de  fallacia, 
Ut  ea  via  abs  te  argentum  auferretur  ? 

Men. —  Scio. 

C/ire. — Ea  res  nunc  agitur  ipsa. 

Men. —  Quid  narras,  Chreme  ? 

Immo  haec  quidem  quae  apud  me  est,  Clitiphonis  est 
Arnica. 

C/ire. —  Ua  aiunt :  et  tu  credit  omnia  : 


110  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

They  say,  too,  that  your  son  will  wed,  when  I  give  leave. 
And  you  will  buy  the  gems  and  clothes  and  all  they  need. 

Jfen. — That's  true.     Ah,  Bacchis  gets  my  gold  ! 

C/ire. —  'Tis  plain,  indeed, 

'Twill  thus  be  giv'n. 

Men. —  Alas,  I've  then  rejoiced  in  vain  ! 

Yet  every  ill  would  choose,  ere  he  should  leave  again. 
What  message  to  him,  Chremes,  shall  I  now  impart, 
That  will  not  tell  what  I  have  learn' d,  nor  wound  his  heart, 

C/ire. — What  ?     Wound  his  heart  ?     You're  far  too  kind. 

Men. —  Well,  be  it  so. 

But  having  thus  begun,  more  kindness  help  me  show. 

C/ire. — Then,  say  you've  seen  and  talked  with  me  about  his  plan. 

Men. — And  after  that  ? 

C/ire. —  Say  that  I'll  do  whate'er  I  can. 

As  son,  he'll  suit  me  well  ;  and  then  if  you  desire, 
Why,  say  I'll  give  my  child. 

Men. —  'Tis  all  I  could  require. 

C/ire. — Thus  he'll  demand,  and  you  will  give  what,  with  such  speed. 
You  long  to  lose. 

Men. —  I'd  give  him  all. 

C/ire. —  And  soon,  indeed, 

As  things  appear,  you'll  have  enough  of  this  affair  ; 
But  as  things  are,  you'll  give  but  little,  and  with  care, 
If  you  are  wise. 

Men. —  I  will. 

C/ire. —  Go  see  what  he'll  demand  ; 

I'm  home,  if  aught  you  need. 

Men. —  I'll  ask  it  at  your  hand. 

For  nothing  will  I  do  till  you  first  understand. 


Heautontimorumenos.  Ill 

Et  illam  aiunt  velle  uxorem,  ut  cum  desponderim 

Des  qui  aurum  ac  vestum  atque  alia  quae  opus  sunt  comparet. 

Men. — Id  est  profecto  :  id  amicae  dabitur. 

Chre. —  Scilicet 

Daturum. 

Men. —  Ah,  frustra  sum  igitur  gavisus  miser. 

Quidvis  tamen  jam  malo  quam  hunc  amittere. 
Quid  nunc  renuntiem  abs  te  responsum,  Chreme, 
Ne  sentiat  me  sensisse  atque  aegre  ferat  ? 

Chre. — Aegre  ?  nimium  illi,  Menedeme,  indulges. 

Meji. —  Sine  : 

Inceptum'st :  perfice  hoc  mihi  perpetuo,  Chreme. 

Chre. — Die  convenisse,  egisse  te  de  nuptiis. 

Men. — Dicara  ;  quid  deinde  ? 

Chre. —  Me  facturum  esse  omnia, 

Generum  placere  :  postremo  etiam,  si  voles, 
Desponsam  quoque  esse  dicito. 

Men. —  Hem,  istuc  volueram. 

Chre. — Tanto  ocius  te  ut  poscat  et  tu,  id  quod  cupis, 
Quam  ocissime  ut  des. 

Men. —  Gupio. 

Ch-e. —  Ne  tu  propediem, 

Ut  istam  rem  video,  istius  obsaturabere. 
Sed  haec  uti  sunt,  cautim  et  paulatim  dabis, 
Si  sapies. 

Men. —  Faciam. 

Chre. —  Abi  intro  :  vide  quid  postulet. 

Ego  domi  ero,  siquid  me  voles. 

Men. —  Sane  volo  : 

Nam  te  scientem  faciam,  quidquid  egero. 


ACT   V. 

SCENE  I 

Menedemus.  Chremes. 

Men. — My  astuteness  is  not  wondrous,  nor  am  I  a  seer ; 
But  this  prompter,  aid,  director  mine,  this  Chremes  here 
Far  excels  all  dolts.     Now  aught  with  which  a  fool  we  class, 
May  myself  be  like,  as  block,  post,  lump  of  lead,  or  ass  ; 
But  not  Chremes  who,  for  dullness,  can  all  these  surpass. 

Chre.  {to  Sos.,  witJiiti) — Come,  beseech  not  thus  the  gods  so  oft  your 
thanks  to  hear, 
Wife,  unless  you  judge  them  by  yourself,  and  therefore  fear 
They  conceive  alone  what's  said  a  hundred  times  a  day. 
Meantime,  tell  me  why  my  son,  with  Syrus,  stays  away  ? 

Men. — Chremes,  who's  away  ? 

Chre. —  Ho,  Menedemus,  'tis  your  call ! 

Have  you  given  Clinia,  yet,  my  message,  pray  ? 

Men. —  Aye,  all. 

C/^r^.— What  replied  he  ? 

Men. —  Pleased  he  seemed,  as  if  he  wished  to  wed. 

Chre. — Ha,  ha  ! 

Men. —  Wherefore  laugh  ? 

Chre. —  Why  Syrus  now  comes  in  my  head, 

Tricks  and  all. 


ACTUS    V. 

SGENA  I. 

Menedemus.   Ghremes. 

Men. — Ego  me  non  tam  astutum  neque  ita  perspicacem  esse  id  scio  : 
Sed  hie  adjutor  meus  et  monitor  et  praemonstrator  Ghremes 
Hoc  mihi  praestat :  in  me  quidvis  harum  rerum  convenit, 
Quae  sunt  dicta  in  stulto,  caudex,  stipes,  asinus,  plumbeus  : 
In  ilium  nil  potest :  exuperat  ejus  stultitia  haec  omnia. 

Chre. — Ohe,  jam  desine  deos,  uxor,  gratulando  obtundere, 
Tuam  esse  inventam  gnatam  ;  nisi  illos  ex  tuo  ingenio  judicas, 
Ut  nil  credas  intellegere,  nisi  idem  dictum'st  centies. 
Sed  interim  quid  illic  jam  dudum  gnatus  cessat  cum  Syro  ? 

Men. — Quos  ais  homines,  Ghreme,  cessare  ? 

Chre. —  Ehem,  Menedeme,  advenis  ? 

Die  mihi,  Gliniae  quae  dixi  nuntiastin'. 

Men. —  Omnia. 

C/^r^.— Quid  ait  ? 

Men. —  Gaudere  adeo  coepit,  quasi  qui  cupiunt  nuptias. 

Chre. — Ha,  ha,  he. 

Men. —  Quid  risisti  ? 

Chre. —  Servi  venere  in  mentem  Syri 

Galliditates. 


1 U  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Men. —  In  truth  ? 

Chre. —  He'll  fix  one's  face  to  suit  his  need. 

Men. — Mean  you  Clinia  feign'd  this  joy  ? 

Chre. —  Of  course. 

Men. —  This,  indeed, 

Struck  my  mind. 

Chre. —  The  rogue  ? 

Men. —  The  more  you  know,  the  more  you'll  own 

He's  a  rogue. 

Chre.—  So  ? 

Men. —  True  :  just  hark — 

Chre. —  But  stop ;  at  fiHrst  make  known 

What  you've  spent ;  for  when  you  told  your  son  that  he  could  wed, 
Dromo  must  have  given  you  some  hints  ;  for  instance,  said  : 
Jewels,  servants,  clothing  needs  the  bride  ;  now  money  give. 

Men. — Oh,  no. 

Chre.—  What?     No? 

Me7i. —  No. 

Chre. —  Nor  e'en  your  son  ? 

Men. —  No,  as  I  live  ! 

Only  urged  the  more  that  he  might  wed,  this  very  day. 

Chre. — Strange  this.     What  said  Syrus  then  ?     Something,  perhaps  ? 

Men. —  Nay,  nay. 

Chre. — Why,  I  know  not. 

Men. —  With  your  wit,  'tis  strange  you  cannot  tell. 

Syrus, though,  has  taught  and  disciplined  your  son  so  well 
That  he  never  shows  that  Bacchis  is  my  Glinia's  friend. 

(7/;r^.— What  ? 

Men. —  As  naught,  I  count  their  hugs  and  kisses  without  end. 

Chre. — What  dissemblinL'  more  was  needed  ? 


Heautontimorumenos.  115 

Men. —  Itane  ? 

C/ire. —  Vultus  quoque  hominum  fingit  scelus. 

Men. — Gnatus  quod  se  assimulat  laetum,  id  dicis  ? 

Chre.~  Id. 

Men. —  Idem  istuc  mihi 

Venit  in  mentem. 

Chre. —  Veterator. 

Men. —  Magis,  si  magis  noris,  putes 

Ita  rem  esse. 

Chre.—  Ain'  tu  ? 

Men. —  Quin  tu  ausculta. 

Chre. —  Mane  dum  hoc  prius  scire  expeto, 

Quid  perdideris  ;  nam  ubi  desponsam  nuntiasti  filio, 
Continuo  injecisse  verba  tibi  Dromonem  scilicet, 
Sponsae  vestem  aurum  atque  ancillas  opus  esse ;  argentum  ut  dares. 

Men. — Non. 

Chre.—  Quid  ?     Non  ? 

Me7i. —  Non  inquam. 

Chre. —  Neque  ipse  gnatus  ? 

Men. —  Nil  prorsum,  Chreme, 

Magis  unum  etiam  instare,  ut  hodie  conficerentur  nuptiae. 

Chre. — Mira  narras.     Quid  Syrus  meus  ?  ne  is  quidem  quidquam  ? 

Men.—  Nihil. 

Chre. — Quam  obrem ,  nescio. 

Men. —  Equidem  miror,  qui  alia  tam  plane  scias. 

Sed  ille  tuum  quoque  Syrus  idem  mire  fmxit  filiura, 
Ut  ne  paululum  quidem  subolat  esse  amicam  banc  Cliniae. 

Chre. — Quid  ais  ? 

Men. —  Mitto  jam  osculari  atque  amplexari :  id  nil  puto. 

Chre. — Quid  est  quod  amplius  simuletur  ? 


116  TJie  Self-  Tormentor. 

Men. —  Bah ! 

Chre.—  Nay,  what? 

Men. —  Then  hear : 

In  my  mansion  is  a  room  shut  to  the  Hst'ning  ear ; 
OfTring  all  the  privacy  that  lovers  e'er  desired. 

Chre. — Pray,  what  then  ? 

Men. —  To  tell  the  truth,  there  Clitipho  retired. 

Chre. — Singly  ? 

Men. —  Singly. 

Chre. —  Fear  I  now. 

Meti. —  And  there  went  Bacchis,  too. 

C/;r^.— Singly  ? 

Men. —  Singly. 

Chre. —  Woe's  me  ! 

Men. —  Ent'ring,  closed  the  door. 

Chre. —  Oh,  whew! 

Clinia  witness'd  this  ? 

Men. —  Why  not  ?     For  near  at  hand  were  we. 

Chre. — Then,  oh  Menedemus,  Bacchis  has  my  son  ;  woe's  me ! 

Men. — How  so  ? 

Chre. —  I've  scarce  whereon  I  can  ten  days  depend. 

Men. — Is  this  because  your  son's  devoted  to  his  friend  ? 

Chre. — Nay,  to  liis  mistress,  though. 

Men. —  If  so. 

Chre. —  You  doubt  'lis  so  ? 

Is  any  one  so  soft,  with  passions,  too,  so  slow. 
That  he  could  let  his  mistress  mate  before  his  eyes  ? 

Men. — Why  not  ?     For  easier  thus  their  motives  they  disguise. 

Chre. — Thus  mock  ?     'Tis  well  deserved  ;  I'm  with  myself  enraged. 
What  signs,  whereby  this  ill  I  might  have  well  presaged. 


Heaxdontimorumenos.  117 

Men. —  Vail ! 

Chre.—  Quid  est  ? 

Men. —  Audi  modo. 

Est  mihi  ultimis  conclave  in  aedibus  quoddam  retro : 
Hue  est  intro  latus  lectus,  vestimentis  stratus  est. 

Ch7-e. — Quid  postquam  hoc  est  factum  ? 

Men. —  Dictum  factum  hue  abiit  Clitipho. 

C7^r^.— Solus  ? 

Men. —  Solus. 

Chre. —  Timeo. 

Men.—  Bacchis  consecuta  'st  ilico. 

C/;/-^,— Sola  ? 

Men. —  Sola, 

Chre. —  Peril ! 

Men. —  Ubi  abiere  intro  operuere  ostium. 

Chre. —  Hem, 

Glinia  haec  fieri  videbat  ? 

Men. —  Quidni  ?  mecum  una  simul. 

Chre. — Fili  'st  amica  Bacchis  :  Menedeme,  occidi. 

Men. — Quamobrem  ? 

Chre. —  Deceni  dierum  vix  mi  est  familia. 

Men. — Quid  ?  istuc  times  quod  ille  operam  amico  dat  suo  ? 

Chre. — Inimo  quod  amicae. 

Men.—  Si  dat. 

Chre. —  An  dubium  id  tibi'st  ? 

Quemquamne  tam  comi  aninio  esse  aut  leni  putas, 
Qui  se  vidente  amicam  patiatur  suam  ? 

Men. — Quidni  ?  quo  verba  facilius  dentur  mihi. 

Chre. — Derides  ?  merito.     Mihi  nunc  ego  suscenseo. 
Quot  res  dedere,  ubi  possem  persentiscere, 


118  The  Self-  Tormentor, 

Were  I  not  stone  !     What  things  I  saw  !     Oh  wretched  man  ! 
But  if  I  hve,  they  shall  not  carry  out  their  plan, 
For  now — 

Mefi. —         Can't  curb  yourself?     Your  self-respect  all  gone  ? 
Example  am  I  not  for  you  ? 

Chre. —  For  wrath  alone, 

Oh  neighbor,  I  am  crazed. 

Men. —  Such  words  from  you,  pray  tell  ? 

Is  it  no  sin  that  you  who  counsel  friends  so  well, 
Who  are  for  others  wise  can  give  yourself  no  aid  ? 

Cy;;-^._What  shall  I  do  ? 

Men. —  What  I  did  not,  as  once  you  said  : 

Show  now  a  father's  love  ;  teach  Clitipho  to  dare 
Confide  in  you  ;  to  you  to  look  and  make  his  prayer. 
Lest  other  aid  he  seek,  to  others  give  more  care. 

C/u-e. — Nay,  rather  let  him  go,  no  matter  where  he  may, 
Than  that  his  sins  should  e'er  give  me  to  want  a  prey  ; 
For,  forced  such  daily  drafts  upon  my  means  to  make, 
I  must,  ere  long,  like  you  be  burthen'd  with  a  rake. 

Men. — What  sorrows  will  you  reap  unless  great  care  you  use  ! 
With  harshness  you'll  begin  and  then,  no  doubt,  excuse, 
And  thankless  he. 

Chre. —  Unknown  my  grief. 

Men. —  Oh  be  content. 

But  what  about  the  marriage  now  ?     Perhaps  your  bent 
Is  somewhere  else. 

Chre.  —  Nay,  with  you  both  I'm  satisfied. 

Mejt. — About  the  dower  then,  what  shall  I  say  ?     Decide. 
Why  silent  now  ? 

Chre.—  The  dower  ? 


Heautontimorumenos.  119 

Ne  essem  lapis  !  quae  vidi !  Vae  misero  mihi ! 
At  ne  illud  baud  inultum,  si  vivo,  ferent : 
Nam  jam  .... 

Men. —  Non  tu  te  cohibes  ?  non  te  respicis  ? 

Non  tibi  ego  exempli  satis  sum  ? 

C/ire. —  Prae  iracundia, 

Menedeme,  non  sum  apud  me. 

Men. —  Tene  istue  loqui  ? 

Nonne  id  flagitium  'st,  te  aliis  consilium  dare, 
Foris  sapere,  tibi  non  posse  te  auxiliarier  ? 

C/ire. — Quid  faciam  ? 

Men. —  Id  quod  me  fecisse  aiebas  parum. 

Fac  te  patrem  esse  sentiat :  fac  ut  audeat 
Tibi  credere  omnia,  abs  te  petere  et  poscere : 
Nequam  aliam  quaerat  copiam  ac  te  deserat. 

C/ire. — Immo  abeat  potius  malo  quovis  gentium, 
Quam  hie  per  flagitium  ad  inopiam  redigat  patrem  ; 
Nam  si  illi  pergo  suppeditare  sumptibus, 
Menedeme,  mihi  illaec  vero  ad  rastros  res  redit. 

Men. — Quot  incommoditates  hac  re  accipies,  nisi  caves  I 
Difficilem  ostendes  te  esse  et  ignosces  tamen 
Post,  et  id  ingratum. 

C/ire. —  Ah  necis  quam  doleam. 

Men. —  Ut  lubet. 

Quid  hoc  quod  volo,  ut  ilia  nubat  nostro  ?  nisi  quid  est 
Quod  magis  vis. 

C/ire. —  Immo  et  gener  et  affines  placent. 

Men. — Quid  dotis  dicam  te  dixisse  filio  ? 
Quid  obticuisti  ? 

C/ire.—  Dotis  ? 


120  The  Self- Tormentor. 

Men. —  Yes. 

Chre.—  Ah. 

Men. —  Chremes,  friend, 

Fear  not  to  tell,  if  small ;  naught  can  thereon  depend. 

Chre. — In  proportion  to  my  means,  two  talents  deemed  I  due. 
But  to  save  my  peace  of  mind,  my  son,  my  fortune,  too, 
All  my  wealth,  I  give  to  her. 

Men. —  What's  this  you  now  propose  ? 

Chre. — Feign  astonishment,  I  pray,  and  bid  my  son  disclose 
Wherefore  'tis. 

Me7i. —  I  must,  for  "  wherefore  "  is  unknown  to  me. 

Chre. — Wherefore  ?     That  his  mind,  which  luxury  and  vice,  I  see. 
Have  so  warp'd,  may  be  redeemed.     I'll  make  him  beg  his  crust ! 

J/^w.— What's  this  threat  ? 

Chre. —  Enough.     In  this  now  give  me  leave. 

Men. —  I  must. 

Thus  you  wish  ? 

Chre.—  Yes. 

Men. —  Be  it. 

Chre. —  Now  tell  Clinia  to  remove 

Hence  his  wife.     My  son,  as  due,  with  words  will  I  reprove, 
Syrus  though — 

Men. —  Him,  what  now  ? 

Chre.—  What  now  ?     If  I  live,  shall  he 

Polished  be  and  combed  so  well  that  he'll  remember  me. 
Villain,  thus  to  make  a  butt  of  me  for  his  delight  ? 
Coward,  daring  not  a  helpless  widow  so  much  spite,  , 

As  he  has  me. 


Heautontimorumenos.  121 

Men. —  Ita  dico, 

Chre.—  Ah. 

Men. —  Chreme, 

Nequid  vereare,  si  minus  :  nil  nos  dos  movet. 

Chre. — Duo  talenta  pro  re  nostra  ego  esse  decrevi  satis  : 
Sed  ita  dictu  opus  est,  si  me  vis  salvum  esse  et  rem  et  filium, 
Me  mea  omnia  bona  doti  dixisse  illi. 

Men. —  Quam  rem  agis  ? 

Chre. — Id  mirari  te  simulato  et  ilium  hoc  rogitato  simul, 
Quam  obrem  id  faciam. 

Men. —  Quin  ego  vero  quam  obrem  id  facias  nescio. 

Chre. — Egone  ?  ut  ejus  animum,  qui  nunc  luxuria  et  lascivia 
Diffluit,  retundam,  redigam,  ut  quo  se  vertat,  nesciat. 

Men. — Quid  agis  ? 

Chre. —  Mitte  :  sine  me  in  hac  re  gerere  mihi  morem. 

Men. —  Sino : 

Itane  vis  ? 

Chre. —  Ita, 

Men. —  Fiat. 

Chre. —  '  Ac  jam  uxorem  ut  arcessat  paret. 

Hie  ita  ut  liberos  est  aequum  dictis  confutabitur. 
Sed  Syrum. 

Me7i. —  Quid  eum  ? 

Chre. —  Egon'  ?     Si  vivo  adeo  exornatum  dabo, 

Adeo  depexum,  ut  dum  vivat  meminerit  semper  mei. 
Qui  sibi  me  pro  deridiculo  ac  delectamento  putat. 
Non,  ita  me  di  ament,  auderet  facere  haec  viduae  mulieri, 
Quae  in  me  fecit. 


122  The  Self- Tormentor. 


SCENE  II. 


Clitipho.  Menedemus.  Ghremes.  Syrus. 

Ciif —  Menedemus,  can  it  be,  pray  tell. 

That  my  father  could  so  soon  all  love  for  me  thus  quell  ? 
What,  pray,  have  I  done  ?     Is  mine  offence  of  such  dark  hue  ? 
Others  do  the  same. 

Men. —  I  know  this  heaviest  falls  on  you. 

Yet  no  less  I  grieve,  not  even  knowing  what  you've  done 
Neither  why  I  grieve,  unless  it  be  my  heart  you've  won. 

cut. — Father  's  here,  you  said. 

Men. —  Behold,     {exit  Men.') 

C/ire. —  What  'gainst  me  do  you  find  ? 

In  my  acts,  your  good  and  folly  both  I've  had  in  mind. 
When  I  learned  that  reckless  ways  and  present  joys  bid  fair 
To  absorb  your  mind,  the  future  giving  you  no  care, 
I  resolv'd  you  should  not  want,  nor  yet  my  wealth  outlive, 
And  to  you,  its  spendthrift  heir,  I  found  it  wrong  to  give  ; 
So,  your  nearest  kindred,  guardians  of  my  wealth,  I  made. 
'Gainst  your  follies,  Clitipho,  they'll  ever  lend  their  aid  ; 
And  with  them  you'll  always  find  food,  clothes,  and  roof. 

cut. —  Woe's  me  ! 

Chre. — Better  thus  my  wealth,  than  Bacchis  heir  thereof  should  be. 


Heautontimorumenos.  123 


SGENA  II. 


Glitipho.  Menedemus.  Ghremes.  Syrus. 

Ch'f. —  Itane  tandem  quaeso  est,  Menedeme,  ut  pater 

Tarn  in  brevi  spatio  omnem  de  me  ejecerit  animum  patris  ? 
Quodnam  ob  facinus  ?  quid  ego  tantum  sceleris  admisi  miser  ? 
Vulgo  faciunt. 

Men. —  Scio  tibi  esse  hoc  gravius  multo  ac  durius, 

Gui  fit :  verum  ego  baud  minus  aegre  patior,  id  qui  nescio 
Nee  rationem  capio,  nisi  quod  tibi  bene  ex  animo  volo. 

C7//. — Hie  patrem  astare  aibas. 
.,    Men. —  Eccum, 

C/ire. —  Quid  me  incusas,  Glitipho  ? 

Quidquid  ego  hujus  feci,  tibi  prospexi  et  stultitiae  tuae. 
Ubi  te  vidi  animo  esse  omisso  et  suavia  in  praesentia 
Quae  essent  prima  habere  neque  consulere  in  longitudinem  : 
Cepi  rationem,  ut  neque  egeres  neque  ut  haec  posses  perdere. 
Ubi  cui  decuit  primo,  tibi  non  licuit  per  te  raihi  dare, 
Abii  ad  proximos,  tibi  qui  erant,  eis  commisi  et  credidi. 
Ibi  tuae  stultitiae  semper  erit  praesidiura,  Glitipho, 
Victus,  vestitus,  quo  in  tectum  te  receptes. 

C7zV. —  Ei  mihi ! 

C/ire. — Satius  est  quam  te  ipso  herede  haec  possidere  Bacchidem. 


n 


124  The  Self- Tormentor. 

Sjr.  {apart) — Wretched  me,  through  ignorance,  such  cause  of  strife 

C/zf. — Let  me  die  !  [togivelf^j 

CAre. —  Far  better,  first  to  learn  what  'tis  to  live,  t 

And  when  learn'd,  if  tasteless,  then  the  other  course  pursue.  J 

^7-.— May  I  speak  ?  ^1 

C//re. —  Aye. 

Syr. —  Safely  ? 

C/ire. —  SpCc^L. 

Syr. —  Oh  what  a  wrong  in  you. 

Or  how  mad,  to  make  him  bear  my  sin  ! 

CAre. —  Cease  this  pert  cry. 

Mix  not ;  none  blames  you  ;  you  need  not  to  the  altar  fly, 
Nor  entreater  seek. 

Syr. —  Pray,  what's  this  strife  ? 

Chre.—  Ill-will,  I've  none 

'Gainst  my  son,  nor  you  ;  nor  can  you  chide  for  what  I've  done,     {ext'f.) 

Syr. — Gone  !     Oh  had  I  ask'd  him — 

Cltf.—  What  ? 

Syr. —  Where  I  should  get  my  food, 

TTius  abandon'd.     You  your  sister  seek,  'tis  understood. 

C/t't — And,  Syrus,  has  it  come  to  this,  that  e'en  with  hunger  I  must 

Syr. — While  there  is  life  there's  hope.  [fight  ? 

cm.—  Of  what  ? 

Syr. —  Of  having  both  an  appetite. 

C///. — And  do  you  laugh  at  such  a  grave  affair?     And  counsel,  have 
you  none  ? 

Syr. — Not  so :  yours,  while  your  father  talk'd,  was  I ;  yours  am  I  now  , 
alone  ; 
And  in  so  far  as  I  can  see — 

C///.—  Well,  what  ? 


Heautontimorumenos.  125 

Syr. — Disperii :  scelestus  quantas  turbas  concivi  insciens  ! 

cut. — Emori  cupio. 

Chre. —  Prius,  quaeso  disce,  quid  sit  vivere. 

Ubi  scies,  si  displicebit  vita,  turn  istoc  utitor. 

Syr. — Here,  licetne  ? 

Chre. —  Loquere, 

Syr.—  At  tuto  ? 

Chre. —  Loquere. 

Syr. —  Quae  ista'st  pravitas 

Quaeve  amentia'st,  quod  peccavi  ego,  id  obesse  huic  ? 

Chre. —  Ilicet. 

Ne  te  admisce  :  nemo  accusat,  Syre,  te  :  nee  tu  aram  tibi. 
Nee  precatorem  pararis. 

Syr. —  Quid  agis  ? 

Chre. —  Nil  succenseo, 

Nee  tibi  nee  huic  :  nee  vos  est  aequum  quod  facio  mihi. 

Syr. — Abiit !     Vah,  rogasse  vellem. 

cm.—  Quid  ? 

Syr. —  Unde  peterem  mihi  cibum : 

Ita  nos  ahenavit :  tibi  jam  esse  ad  sororem  intelhgo, 

cut. — Adeon'  rem  rediisse,  ut  periclum  etiam  a  fame  mihi  sit,  Syre? 

Syr. — Modo  hceat  vivere,  est  spes. 

cut.—  Quae  ? 

Syr. —  Nos  esurituros  satis. 

cut. — Irrides  in  re  tanta  ?  neque  me  quidquam  consiho  adjuvas  ? 

Syr. — Immo  et  ibi  nunc  sum  et  usque  id  egi  dudum  dum  loquitur 
pater  : 
Et  quantum  ego  intelligere  possum. 

cut.—  Quid  ? 


126  The  Self-  Tormentor 

Syr. —  'T  will  not  be  long  unseen. 

67//.— Pray,  what? 

Syr. —  Why,  this  :  that  you  arc  not  their  son,  I  think. 

Clit. —  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Why,  Syrus,  are  you  sane  ? 

Syr. —  I'll  tell  my  thoughts,  then  judge  you  if  I'm  right: 

While  you  were  thought  an  only  child,  you  yielded  them  their  sole  delight, 
And  all  your  whims  were  gratified  ;  but  mark  :  a  daughter  yesterday 
Was  found,  and  with  her  also  found  a  cause  for  driving  you  away. 

Clit. — Why,  so  'twould  seem. 

Syr. —  Would  he,  for  such  a  venial  sin,  have  you  undone  ? 

Clit. — I  could  not  so  believe. 

Syr. —  Observe  besides  :  a  mother,  to  a  son 

Arraign'd  for  crime,  will  render  aid  and  'gainst  a  father's  wrath  defend. 
In  your  case,  'tis  not  so. 

Clit. —  That's  true.     What,  Syrus,  do  you  recommend  ? 

Syr. — Concerning  this  suspicion,  question  them  ;    your  reasons,  too, 
make  plain  ; 
If  your  suspicion  be  not  just,  you  will,  at  least,  their  mercy  gain. 
Or  know  whose  son  you  are. 

cut.—  Right ;  I'll  obey,     {exit.) 

Syr. —  'Twas  lucky,  to  my  mind. 

This  thought  should  come,  because  the  less  of  hope  he  now  may  find, 
The  easier  can  he  with  his  father  then  a  friendly  place  secure. 
I'm  not  so  sure  he  will  not  wed  ;  but  Syrus  gets  no  thanks,  I'm  sure. 
What's  this  ?    The  old  man  comes.     I'll  fly,  in  view  of  what  I've  done. 
'Tis  strange  I'm  not  sent  off.     To  Menedemus,  I'll  be  gone ; 
My  pleader,  he  shall  be,  for  faith  in  Ghremes  have  I  none. 


Heautontimorumenos.  127 

Syr. —  Non  aberit  longius, 

cm. — Quid  id  ergo  ? 

Syr. —  Sic  est :  non  esse  horum  te  arbitror. 

cut. —  .  Qui  istuc,  Syre  ? 

Satin'  sanus  es  ? 

Syr. —  Ego  dicam  quod  mi  in  mentem'st ;  tu  dijudica. 

Dum  istis  fuisti  solus,  dum  nulla  alia  delectatio 
Quae  proprior  esset,  te  indulgebant,  tibi  dabant  :  nunc  filia 
Postquam'st  inventa  vera,  inventa'st  causa  qua  te  expellerent. 

cut. — Est  verisimile. 

Syr. —  An  tu  ob  peccatum  hoc  esse  ilium  iratum  putas  ? 

cut. — Non  arbitror. 

Syr. —  Nunc  aliud  specta :  matres  omnes  filiis 

In  peccato  adjutrices,  auxilio  in  paterna  injuria 
Solent  esse  :  id  non  fit. 

cut. —  Verum  dicis :  quid  ego  nunc  faciam,  Syre  ? 

Syr. — Suspicionem  istanc  ex  illis  quaere :  rem  prefer  palam. 
Si  non  est  verum,  ad  misericordiam  ambos  adduces  cito, 
Aut  scibis  cujus  sis. 

cut. —  Recte  suades  ;  faciam. 

Syr. —  Sat  recte  hoc  mihi 

In  mentem  venit :  namque  adolescens,  quara  in  minima  spe  situs  erit, 
Tam  facillime  patris  pacem  in  leges  conficiet  suas. 
Etiam  baud  scio  anne  uxorem  ducat  ac  Syro  nil  gratiae. 
Quid  hoc  autem  ?  senex  exit  foras  :  ego  fugio  ;    adhuc  quod  factum'st  •; 
Miror  non  jusse  me  abripi  hinc :  nunc  ad  Menedemum  hinc  pergam. 
Eum  mihi  precatorem  paro  :  seni  nostro  nil  fidei  habeo. 


1 28  The  Self-  Trnnentiyr. 


SCENE  III. 

SOSTRATA.    ChREMES. 

Sos. — If  not  more  cautious,  husband  dear,  you'll  do  your  son  a  grievous 
ill. 
Forsooth  with  wonderment  you  fill 
My  mind,  by  suff'ring  such  a  freak  to  sway  your  judgment  and  your  will, 

Chre. — Oh  will  you  be  a  silly  woman  still  ?     Pray  was  there  ever  aught 
I  wish'd  to  do  in  all  my  life,  that  you  wish'd  not  to  bring  to  naught  ? 
Yet  should  I  ask  wherein  I  sinn'd,  or  why  did  this,  you  could  not  show. 
Upon  what  grounds  resist  you  now,  oh  fool  ? 

Sos. —  Think  you  I  do  not  know  ? 

Chre. — Of  course,  you  know  ;  I'd  rather  grant  you  know,  than  hear 
you  prate  again. 

Sos. — In  this  affair,  'tis  gross  injustice,  sir,  to  bid  my  tongue  refrain. 

Chre. — I  bid  you  naught ;  say  what  you  will ;  Fll  do  no  less  than  I 

Sos. — Will  you  ?  [intend. 

Chre.—  Yes. 

Sos. —  And  see  you  not  wherein  your  act  may  end  ? 

Foundling  he  calls  himself ! 

Chre. —  Foundhng  ? 

Sos. —  Yes,  he'll  think  'tis  so, 

Husband  dear. 

Chre. —  Confess  it ! 


Seautontiniorumenos.  129 


SCENA  III. 

SOSTRATA.     GhREMES. 

Sos. — Profecto,  nisi  caves  tu  homo,  aliquid  gnato  conficies  mali : 
Idque  adeo  miror,  quomodo 
Tam  ineptum  quicquam  tibi  venire  in  mentem,  mi  vir,  potuerit. 

Chre. — 0,  pergin'  mulier  esse?  nullamne  ego  rem  umquam  in  vita  mea 
Volui,  quin  tu  in  ea  re  mihi  fueris  adversatrix,  Sostrata  ? 
At  si  rogem  jam,  quid  est  quod  peccem,  aut  quamobrem  hoc  faciam ; 

nescias. 
In  qua  re  nunc  tam  confidenter  restas,  stulta  ? 

Sos. —  Ego  nescio  ? 

Chre. — Immo  scis,  potius  quam  quidem  redeat  ad  integrum  haec  eadem 
oratio. 

Sos. — 0,  iniquus  es,  qui  me  tacere  de  re  tanta  postules. 

Chre. — Non  postulo  jam  :  loquere  :  nilo  minus  ego  hoc  faciam  tamen. 

Sos. — Facies  ? 

Chre. —  Verum. 

Sos. —  Non  vides  quantum  mah  ex  ea  re  excites  ? 

Subditum  se  suspicatur. 

Chre. —  Subditum,  ain'tu  ? 

Sos. —  Sic  erit 

Mi  vir. 

Chre. —        Gonfitere. 


1 30  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Sos. —  Let  this  come,  sir,  from  a  foe  ! 

I  confess  he's  not  my  son,  who  is  my  son,  indeed  ? 

Chre. — What  now  ?     And  fear  you,  wife,  you  could  not  prove  liini 
yours  in  case  of  need  ? 

Sos. — Because  a  daughter  I  may  claim  ? 

Chre. —  Bah,  no ;  for  reasons  easier  shown: 

Because  his  manners  are  your  own. 

You'll  prove,  with  ease,  that  he's  your  son  ;  in  fact,  your  counterpart  is  he : 
Blemish  none  is  there  in  him,  of  which  you,  wife,  are  free. 
Then,  moreover,  only  you  to  such  could  e'er  give  birth. 
Here  he  comes  ;  how  grave !     You'll  see  how  much  his  looks  are  worth. 


SCENE  IV. 
Glitipho.  Sostrata.  Ghremes. 

cut. — Mother,  if  there  ever  was  a  time,  when  joy  I  gave 
You,  on  being  call'd  your  son  and  own'd  as  such,  I  crave 
Your  remembrance  of  that  time.     Let  pity  now  be  shown 
Me  here  wishing,  begging  you  to  make  my  parents  known, 

Sos. — I  beseech  you,  son,  to  cherish  not  the  vain  conceit 
That  some  waif  you  are. 

cut. —  I  am. 

Sos. —  Ah,  will  you  thus  entreat? 

You'll  outlive  us  both,  I  hope,  and  find  you  are  our  son. 
If  you  love  me,  though,  take  care  all  words  like  these  to  shun. 

Chre. — If  you  love  me,  though,  take  care  from  every  vice  to  haste! 

C/t't.— Vices  !     What  ? 


Eeautontimorumenos.  131 

Sos. —  Au,  te  obsecro,  istuc  inimicis  siet. 

Egon'  confitear  meum  non  esse  filium,  qui  sit  meus  ? 

Chre. — Quid  ?  metuis  ne  non,  quum  vclis,  convincas  esse  ilium  tuuni  ? 

Sos. — Quod  filia'st  inventa  ? 

Chre. —  Non :  sed  quod  magis  credendum  siet 

Id  quod  est  consimilis  moribus, 

Convinces  facile  ex  te  esse  natum  :  nam  tui  similis  est  probe. 
Nam  illi  nil  viti  est  relictum,  quin  siet  itidem  tibi. 
Turn  praeterea  talem  nisi  tu  nulla  pareret  filium. 
Sed  ipse  egreditur ;  quam  severus !  rem  cum  videas,  censeas. 


SCENA  IV. 
Glitipho.  Sostrata.  Chremes. 

cut. — Si  umquam  ullum  fuit  tempus,  mater,  cum  ego  voluptati  tibi 
Fuerim,  dictus  filius  tuus  tua  voluntate,  obsecro. 
Ejus  ut  memineris  atque  inopis  nunc  te  miserescat  mei. 
Quod  peto  et  volo,  parentes  meos  ut  commonstres  mihi. 

Sos. — Obsecro,  mi  gnate,  ne  istuc  in  animum  inducas  tuum, 
Alienum  esse  te. 

Clit. —  Sum. 

Sos. —  Miseram  me,  hocine  quaesisti  obsecro  ? 

Ita  mihi  atque  huic  sis  superstes,  ut  ex  me  atque  ex  hoc  natus  es. 
Et  cave  posthac,  si  me  amas,  umquam  istuc  verbum  ex  te  audiam. 

Chre. — At  ego,  si  me  metuis,  mores  cave  in  te  esse  istos  sentiam. 

C///.— Quos? 


132  The  Self- Tormentor. 

Chre. —  If  you  would  know :   fraud,  idling,  lazing,  waste, 

Glutt'ny  too  !     And  mind,  you  are  our  son  !     Mind  all  that's  said ! 

cut. — Parents  talk  not  thus. 

Chre. —  Nay  had  you  sprung  from  out  my  head 

E'en  like  Pallas  from  Jove's  brain,  I'd  not,  though  such  the  case. 
Let  your  wicked  ways  e'er  bring  upon  my  name  disgrace. 

Sos. — Gods — 

Chre. —  I  call  no  gods  !     'Tis  I  am  call'd  to  act  with  speed  ! 

Parents,  whom  you  have,  you  seek  ;  you  seek  not  what  you  need  : 
Means  to  please  your  sire  and  guard  what  he  has  toil'd  to  earn. 
Did  you  not  through  fraud  here  bring  a  vile — with  shame,  I  burn 
Speaking  in  her  presence  such  a  name  ;  you,  otherwise, 
Feel  no  shame  for  aught. 

cut.  {aside') —  How  much  myself  I  now  despise  ! 

How  asham'd !     Nor  can  I  favor  find  within  his  eyes. 


SCENE  V. 
Menedemus.  Ghremes.  Sostrata.  Glitipho. 

Men. — This  rebuke  which  Ghremes  gives  his  son  is  far  too  great. 
'Tis  inhuman  e'en.     I'll  now  make  peace.     'Tis  fortunate 
They  are  here. 

Chre. —  Ho,  Menedemus  ;  why  not  take  away 

Now  my  daughter  ?     Like  you  not  my  terms  ? 


Heauiontimorumenos.  133 

Chre. —         Si  scire  vis,  ego  dicam  :  gerro,  iners,  fraus,  helluo, 
Ganeo,  damnosus  :  crede,  et  nostrum  te  esse  credito. 

cut. — Non  sunt  liaec  parentis  dicta. 

Chre. —  Non,  si  ex  capita  sis  meo 

Natus,  item  ut  aiunt  Minervam  esse  ex  Jove,  ea  causa  magis 
Patiar,  Glitipho,  flagitiis  tuis  me  infamem  fieri. 

^S^j.-^Di  istaec  .  .  . 

Chre. —  Deos  nescio :  ego  quod  potero  enitar  sedulo. 

Quaeris  id  quod  habes,  parentes :  quod  abest  non  quaeris,  patri 
Quomodo  obsequare,  et  ut  serves  quod  labore  invenerit. 
Non  mihi  per  fallacias  adducere  ante  occulos  .  .  .  pudet 
Dicere  hac  praesente  verbura  turpe :  at  te  id  nullo  modo 
Facere  puduit. 

cut. —  Eheu,  quam  nunc  lotus  displiceo  mihi^ 

Quam  pudet :  neque  quod  principium  capiam  ad  placandum  scio. 


SCENA  V. 
Menedemus.  Ghremes.  Sostrata.  Glitipho. 

Men. — Enimvero  Ghremes  nimis  graviter  cruciat  adolescentulum, 
Nimisque  inhumane  :  exeo  ei^o  ut  pacem  concihem  :  optime 
Ipsos  video. 

Chre. —  Ehem,  Menedeme,  cur  non  arcessi  jubes 

Filiam  et  quod  dotis  dixi  firmas  ? 


134  The  Self- Tormentor. 

Sos. —  Husband,  I  pray 

You,  forbear. 

CltL —  My  father,*  pardon  ! 

Me?i. —  Pardon,  I  advise. 

Listen,  sir. 

Chre. —  To  Bacchis  give  my  wealth  with  open  eyes  ? 

Never ! 

Men. —         This  we'll  not  permit. 

cut. —  If  you  would  spare  my  life, 

Pardon  me. 

Sos. —  Do,  Chremes. 

Men. —  Do,  I  pray,  and  stop  this  strife. 

Chre. — What  is  best  ?     That  I'm  forbid  what  I  began,  seems  clear. 

Men. — Do  yotir  duty. 

Chre. —  I'll  forgive,  if  he  will  promise  here 

To  accept  my  terms. 

Clit. —  Oh,  father,  all  you  ask  :  command  ! 

Chre. — Take  a  wife  ! 

cm.—  Oh,  father ! 

Chre. —  Naught  I'll  hear. 

Men. —  For  him  I'll  stand. 

He  will. 

Chre. —  Yet  says  naught. 

cut.—  Woe  's  me  ! 

Sos. —  My  son,  why  hesitate  ? 

Chre. — Let  him  choose. 

Men. —  He'll  do  your  will. 

Sos. —  This  seems  a  cruel  fate 

While  unknown  ;  when  known,  not  hard. 

Clif. —  Your  will,  sir,  shall  be  done. 


Heautontimorumenos.  135 

Sos. —  Mi  vir,  te  obsecro 

Ne  facias. 

cut. —         Pater,  obsecro  mi  ignoscas. 

Men. —  Da  veniam,  Chreme  : 

Sine  te  exorent. 

Chre. —  Mea  bona  ut  dem  Bacchidi  dono  sciens  ? 

Non  faciam. 

Men. —  At  id  nos  non  sinemus. 

Clit. —  Si  me  vivum  vis,  pater, 

Ignosce. 

Sos. —         Age,  Ghremes  mi. 

Men. —  Age  quaeso,  ne  tam  offirma  te,  Chreme. 

Chre. — Quid  istic  ?  video  non  licere  ut  coeperam  hoc  pertendere. 

Men. — Facis,  ut  te  decet. 

Chre. —  Ea  lege  hoc  adeo  faciam,  si  facit 

Quod  ego  hunc  aequum  censeo. 

Clit. —  Pater,  omnia  faciam  :  impera. 

Chre. — Uxorem  ut  ducas. 

Clit. —  Pater. 

Chre. —  Nil  audio. 

Men. —  Ad  me  recipio : 

Faciei. 

Chre. —  Nil  etiam  audio  ipsum. 

Clit. —  Peril. 

Sos. —  An  dubitas,  Clitipho  ? 

Chre. — Immo  utrum  vult. 

Men. —   .  Faciet  omnia. 

Sos. —  Haec  dum  incipias,  gravia  sunt, 

Dumque  ignores  :  ubi  cognoris,  facilia. 

Clit. —  Faciam  pater. 


136  The  Self-  Tormentor. 

Sos. — I  propose  that  pretty  girl  whom  you  will  love,  my  son, 
Daughter  of  Phanocrata. 

Clif^ —  That  red-faced  maiden,  pray, 

Green-eyed,  gaping,  hook-nosed  wench  ?     I  cannot,  father,  nay  ? 

Chre. — Nice,  he  seems  ;  he  means  to  wed. 

Sffs. —  Another  I'll  commend. 

cut. — If  to  marry,  then,  I  must,  some  other  I  intend 
Taking. 

Sos. —         Good ! 

Ciif^ —  The  daughter  of  Archonides,  our  friend. 

^^^.— Better ! 

cut.. —  Father,  one  thing  more. 

Chre.—  What  ? 

cut. —  Syrus,  in  my  cause 

Wrought  well ;  him  foi^ive. 

Chre. —  I  will.     Farewell.     Give  your  applause. 


Heautontimorumenos.  137 

Sos. — Gnate  mi,  ego  pol  tibi  dabo  illam  lepidam,  quam  tu  facile  ames. 
Filiam  Phanocratae  nostri. 

cut. —  Rufamne  illam  virginem, 

Gaesiam,  sparso  ore,  adunco  naso  ?  non  possum,  pater. 

Chre. — Heia !  ut  elegans  est :  credas  animum  ibi  esse. 

Sos. —  Aliam  dabo. 

cut. — Immo  quandoquidem  ducenda'st,  egomet  habeo  propemodum 
Quam  volo, 

Sos. —  Nunc  laudo,  gnate. 

cut. —  Archonidi  hujus  filiam. 

Sos. — Satis  placet. 

cut. —  Pater,  hoc  nunc  restat. 

Chre.—  Quid  ? 

cut. —  Syro  ignoscas  volo 

Quae  mea  causa  fecit. 

Chre. —  Fiat :  Vos  valete  et  plaudite. 


II. 


FAMILIAR    TALES 


iJJ 


ROLAND,  THE  SHIELD-BEARER. 


FROM   THE   GERMAN   OF  LUDWIG    UHLAND. 

King  Carl  once  by  his  table  sat 
At  Aix  'mid  knights  invited, 

And  with  his  fish  and  meats  so  fat, 
And  wine  their  tastes  delighted. 

The  golden  dishes  brightly  shone, 

And  many  a  green  and  ruby  stone 
The  stately  hall  illumined. 

Then  spake  the  King  so  bold  and  stout : 
"  How  vain  is  all  this  flaunting  ; 

The  richest  gem,  the  world  throughout, 
To  us  will  e'er  be  wanting  ; 

The  gem  that  with  the  sun  compares, 

A  giant  on  his  shield  now  wears. 
Deep  in  the  Ardennes  forest." 

Count  Richard,  likewise  Saint  Turpin, 
Lord  Haimon,  Naims  the  Baier, 

Anglant's  Milon  and  Count  Garin, 
Are  all  at  once  on  fire. 

Each  for  his  sword  and  corslet  hies, 

Each  for  his  saddled  charter  cries. 
To  ride  straight  for  the  giant. 


142  Roland,  the  Shield- Bearer, 

Then  Roland,  Milon's  son,  cried  out : 
"  Dear  father,  hark,  I  pray,  sir, 

That  I  am  large  enough  you  doubt, 
This  giant  to  essay,  sir, 

Yet  not  too  small,  'tis  very  clear. 

To  lug  about  your  pond'rous  spear. 
Together  with  your  buckler  !  " 

The  Ardennes  wood  sought  they  with  speed — 
These  paladins  well  weighted — 

But  at  its  edge  each  stopp'd  his  steed 
And  there  all  separated. 

And  Roland,  in  his  father's  rear, 

Bore  in  his  hand  the  hero's  spear, 
His  shield  he  also  carried. 

By  sun's  and  moon's  alternate  light, 
The  search  each  warrior  pushes. 

But  of  the  giant  gets  no  sight. 
Among  the  rocks  and  bushes. 

The  fourth  long  day,  upon  the  ground. 

Lord  Milon  slept  at  noon  right  sound 
Within  an  oak  tree's  shadow. 

Far  in  the  distance,  Roland  spied 
'  A  flash,  as  'twere  of  light'ning. 

Pierce  through  the  woods,  both  far  and  wide, 

The  stags  and  roe  bucks  fright'ning. 
It  came,  he  saw,  straight  from  the  shield 
Borne  by  a  giant  huge  and  steel'd. 
Who  down  the  mount  was  moving. 


Roland,  the  Shield- Bearer,  143 

Then  to  himself  young  Roland  spake  : 
"  Ho,  ho  !     Here's  something  frightful ! 

But  ought  I  now  my  father  wake 
From  slumber  so  delightful  ? 

No  sleep  is  taken  by  his  steed  ; 

His  spear,  shield,  sword  no  slumber  need, 
Nor  I,  the  springal  Roland," 

Then  to  his  side  that  weapon  clasps, 

Whose  weight  his  father  pleases. 
And  in  his  hand  the  lance  he  grasps, 

The  buckler  likewise  seizes, 
His  father's  steed  he  then  bestrides. 
And  through  the  fir  trees  softly  rides. 

The  hero  not  to  waken. 

And  when  the  mountain  side  he  nears, 

The  giant  stands  there  jeering  ; 
"  What  means  this  brat,"  the  monster  sneers, 

"  On  such  a  horse  appearing  ? 
His  sword  is  twice  his  length  and  girth. 
His  lance  will  weigh  him  to  the  earth. 

And  then  his  shield  will  crush  him." 

"  Prepare  to  fight !  "  shrieks  Roland  out. 

"  Your  jesting  you  shall  rue,  sir. 
And  find  the  shield  so  broad  and  stout 

Will  guard  me  well  'gainst  you,  sir. 
A  little  man,  a  long,  tall  jade  ; 
A  little  arm,  a  long,  thick  blade. 

Must  e'en  help  one  another." 


144  Roland,  the  Shield- Bearer. 

The  giant  swings  his  monstrous  stick  \*) 

Far  forth  with  deadly  meaning  ; 
Young  Roland  skillfully  and  quick, 

Himself  and  charger  screening, 
His  lance  against  the  giant  flings, 
Which  on  the  jeweled  buckler  rings 

And  back  to  him  comes  bounding. 

But  Roland  now  more  cautious  grown, 

His  sword  with  both  hands  seizes  ;  ";«* 

The  giant  clutches,  too,  his  own  ;  f_|' 

Alas  his  life-blood  freezes  ^^J' 

When  Roland  'neath  him  takes  a  stand,  .    '■ 

And  upward  smites  his  sin'ster  hand, 

And  hand  and  shield  sends  rolling. 

The  giant  now  a  glance  forlorn 

Upon  the  shield  bestowing. 
Feels,  with  the  gem  thus  from  him  torn, 

His  strength  is  likewise  going. 
So,  for  the  shield  away  flies  he. 
But  Roland  stabs  him  in  the  knee, 

And  down  sends  him,  too,  rolling. 

Then  Roland  grasped  him  by  the  hair  ; 

His  head  struck  from  his  shoulders  ; 
And  from  the  mighty  veins  laid  bare, 

Streams  drench'd  the  stumps  and  boulders. 
Then  from  the  monster's  shield  he  snatch'd 
The  jewel  none  on  earth  e'er  match'd. 

And  reveled  in  its  lustre. 


\ 


Roland,  the  Shield- Bear&r.  145 

He  gave  it  'neath  his  garb  a  place, 

And  to  a  streamlet  going, 
Washed  well  his  bloody  hands  and  face, 

His  clothes  and  sabre  glowing. 
Back  swiftly  rode  the  hero  then 
To  where  his  father  in  the  glen 

Was  slumb'ring  'neath  the  oak  tree. 

He  nestled  by  the  warrior's  side, 

And  there  was  soundly  sleeping, 
When  in  the  cooling  eventide 

Lord  Milon  cried,  up-leaping  : 
"  Wake,  wake,  my  son  !     Wake,  Roland,  wake ! 
The  shield  and  lance,  come,  quickly  take, 

And  let  us  seek  this  giant !  " 

In  haste  they  left  their  leafy  bed 

And  through  the  forest  wended  ; 
Brave  Roland,  where  his  father  led, 

With  shield  and  lance  attended. 
And  soon  they  reach'd  tlie  rocky  plain, 
Where  Roland  had  the  giant  slain 

And  there  they  found  him  lying. 

Scarce  Roland  could  himself  command, 

When  nowhere  he  detected 
The  head  as  well  as  sin'ster  hand 

His  blade  had  just  exsected. 
No  more  the  giant's  sword  and  spear, 
No  more  his  shield  and  casque  were  here, 

But  trunk  and  bloody  members. 


10 


146 


Boland,  the  Shield- Bearer, 

The  monstrous  carcass  Milon  spies : 
"  What  corse  is  this  here  lying? 

One  sees  by  its  enormous  size — 
E'en  with  an  oak  tree  vying — 

The  giant's  'tis  !     At  what  a  cost 

Have  I  through  sleep  this  honor  lost  I 
I  must  forever  mourn  it." 


At  Aix,  before  the  castle  gate 
The  King  now  stood  dejected  : 
"  What  is  my  brave  paladins'  fate — 
My  heroes,  long  expected  ? 
Ho  !     On  my  word,  if  I  see  right, 
Here  Haimon  comes,  my  doughty  knight, 
The  giant's  head  upon  his  spear-point." 

Sir  Haimon  stopp'd  in  dismal  mood, 
And  from  his  lance  sent  thund'ring 

The  horrid  head  besmeared  with  blood 
Down  where  the  King  stood  wond'ring. 
"  I  found  this  head  as  on  I  hied, 

And  fifty  paces  from  it  spied 

The  giant's  trunk  among  the  bushes." 

Archbishop  Turpin  then  they  spied, 
The  giant's  gauntlet  bringing  ; 

The  hand,  which  still  remain'd  inside 
'Mid  laughfer  from  it  flinging  : 
"  A  reUc,  ha  !     A  beauty,  too  ! 

I  brought  it  all  the  forest  through, 
'T  was  found  lust  as  you  see  it !  " 


Roland,  the  Shield- Bearer.  147 

Bavarian  Naims  now  reach'd  the  ground, 

The  giant's  cudgel  bearing  : 
"  Look  here,  what  in  the  woods  I  found  ! 

I'm  sick  with  sweat  and  swearing, 
And  ready  'neath  the  load  to  sink. 
Ho  !     Bairish  beer !     A  right  good  drink 

Might  save  me  yet  from  swooning." 

Toward  the  gate  Count  Richard  walk'd, 

His  jaded  steed  beside  him, 
Which  'neath  such  weight  of  armor  stalk'd 

The  knight  could  no  more  ride  him. 
"  Let  him  now  search  the  woods  who  will, 
He'll  find,"  quoth  he,  "  some  war-gear  still ; 

I've  taken  all  I  needed." 

» 

Garin  now  to  the  centre  flies, 
The  giant's  buckler  swinging. 
"  He  has  the  shield  !     His  is  the  prize 
Who  comes,  the  jewel  bringing  !  " 
**  I  have  the  shield,  my  gracious  King, 
Alas,  the  gem  I  do  not  bring, 

Though  from  it,  see,  'tis  broken." 

At  last.  Lord  Milon  comes  in  view, 

His  pathway  to  the  castle  wending. 
He  lets  the  steed  his  way  pursue, 

And  rides  with  head  low  bending. 
Behind  him  Roland  follows  near. 
And  bears  in  hand  his  mighty  spear 

Together  with  his  buckler. 


k 


148 


Roland,  the  Shield-Bearer. 

But  as  towards  the  gates  they  wheel'd, 

Before  the  Kmg  to  enter, 
The  youngster  loosen'd  from  the  shield, 

The  button  in  the  center, 
And  placed  the  jewel  in  its  stead, 
Which  straightway  o'er  the  landscape  shed 

The  brilliancy  of  sunshine. 

And  when  the  myriad  shafts  so  bright 

From  Miion's  buckler  darted. 
Out  spake  the  King  in  great  delight : 

"  Hail,  Milon,  lion-hearted. 
Who  brought  the  giant  to  a  stand. 
And  from  him  lopp'd  both  head  and  hand, 

And  won  the  precious  jewel !  " 

« 

Lord  Milon  turned  himself  about 
And  saw  the  brilliant,  marv'ling  : 
"  Speak,  Pioland  !     Speak,  thou  half-grown  sprout! 

Who  gave  thee  this,  thou  starveling  ?  " 
"  For  God's  sake,  father,  do  not  frown 
Because  I  slew  the  uncouth  clown 
While  you  were  soundly  sleeping." 


ROLAND   AND    OLIVER* 


FROM   THE   FRENCH   OF   VICTOR   HUGO. 


And  still  they  fight.     Oh  fearful  contest!     Breast  to  breast. 
Their  horses,  long  since  slain,  lie  on  the  field  at  rest. 
Alone  they  stand  upon  an  island  in  the  Rhone 
Whose  yellow  waters  roll  with  one  continuous  moan, 
While  furious  winds  pile  on  the  shore  wave  over  wave. 
When  holy  Michael  to  Apolyon  battle  gave, 
The  shock  produced  no  greater  wonder  nor  affright. 
Already  had  they  fought  from  early  dawn  till  night. 

Whoe'er  had  seen  the  twain  before  they  reached  the  field, 

Before  their  visors  had  their  visages  conceaFd, 

Had  seen  two  girlish  faces  on  two  fair-hair'd  boys  ; 

Two  children  yesterday,  their  parents'  dearest  joys. 

Replete  with  charms  ;  to-day,  o'ercharged  with  madd'ning  zeal. 

They've  grown  to  be  two  dismal  spectres  clad  in  steel ; 

Two  phantoms  whom  the  fiend  had  furnish'd  with  one  soul, 

Two  masks  between  whose  bars  the  flames  of  fury  roll. 

Grim,  silent,  obstinate,  each  seeks  his  foe  to  gore, 

While  wistful  boatmen  who  had  brought  them  to  the  shore. 

Have  cause  at  last  to  fly  affrighted  from  the  plain, 

And  at  safe  distance,  glimpses  of  the  combat  gain, 


150  Roland  and  Oliver. 

For  of  these  children  whom  they  gaze  upon  appall'd, 
The  one  is  Oliver,  the  other  Roland, call'd. 
And  since  they  took  the  field,  glum,  fierce,  by  fury  stirr'd. 
From  these  two  mouths  not  yet  has  pass'd  a  single  word. 

A  high  and  mighty  lord  is  Oliver  of  Wien, 
A  son  of  old  Gerard,  a  grandson  of  Garin. 
And  for  this  fight,  the  sire  had  well-equipp'd  the  son : 
His  shield  presented  Bacchus  making  war  upon 
The  Normans,  Rollon  drunk  and  Rouen  in  dismay. 
The  smiling  god  by  tigers  drawn,  drives  on  his  way, 
Well  fiird  with  wine,  and  smites  the  cider-loving  crew. 
His  casque  is  by  a  hydra's  wings  half  hid  from  view. 
He  wears  the  breastplate  that  was  worn  by  Solomon. 
His  two-edged  rapier  shines  resplendent  as  the  sun. 
Upon  it  is  his  name,  there  ever  to  be  seen. 
And  when  he  left  his  home,  the  bishop  of  Stadt  Wien 
A  blessing  gave  the  crest  of  this  bold  feudal  lord. 

The  steel-clad  Roland  wears  Durandalf — famous  sword  ! 

So  closely  now  they  fight  that  from  their  burning  throats, 

The  hot  breath  makes  its  mark  upon  their  mailed  coats. 

Foot  presses  foot ;  the  island  'neath  their  furious  hits 

Is  jarred  throughout.     Steel,  iron,  cuts  ;  and  sliorn-off  bits 

Of  crest  and  shield — while  neither  will  his  station  yield — 

Are  thickly  sent,  now  here,  now  there,  o'er  stream  and  field. 

Their  brassards  are  besmirch'd  with  sickly  rills  of  blood. 

Which,  oozing  from  their  wounds,  their  eyes  and  nostrils  flood„ 

Now  all  at  once  upon  Sir  Oliver's  strong  mask 

A  blow  is  struck  that  robs  him  of  both  sword  ftnd  casque. 


Roland  and  Oliver.  151 

Disarm'd,  with  naked  head,  and  Roland's  eye  on  fire, 

He  turns  his  face  to  heav'n  and  thinks  upon  his  sire. 

Durandal  gleams  on  high  !     Of  life  there  seems  no  chance. 
"  Ho  !  "  Roland  cries,  "  I'm  nephew  of  the  King  of  France, 

And  e'en  must  do  what  such  relationship  demands  ; 

So,  when  my  enemy  disarm'd  before  me  stands, 

I  stay  my  hand.     Go,  then,  another  sword  secure. 

And  that  'tis  temper'd  well,  this  time,  I  pray,  make  sure. 

And  something  good  to  drink  bring  hither  with  you  straight. 

For  I  am  dry." 

"  Thanks,"  Oliver  replied. 

"  I'll  wait," 

Said  Roland,"  make  you  haste." 

Sir  Oliver  then  bid 

A  boatman  who  behind  a  chapel  had  been  hid  : 
"  Go  quick  to  town  and  tell  my  father,  on  the  spot. 

To  send  a  sword  to  one  of  us,  and  that  we're  hot." 

Meantime,  the  heroes  sit  beneath  the  spreading  wood, 
And  each  the  other  helps  to  move  his  iron  hood. 
Their  eyes  they  wash  and  give  their  tongues  a  little  run. 
The  boatman  soon  returns,  his  errand  promptly  done. 
The  aged  Count  he  found,  and  from  him  brings  a  sword 
And  wine — the  wine  that  mighty  Pompey  so  ador'd. 
Which  Tournon  on  his  ancient  hills,  to  raise,  was  wont. 
The  sword  was  that  illustrious,  fearful  Closamont, 
Rut  which,  however,  many  persons  call  Haute-Glaire. 

The  boatman  fled.     The  heroes  finish,  with  no  air 

Of  wrath,  their  colloquy.     The  sun  shines  no  wise  loth. 

To  Roland,  Oliver  presents  the  wine  ;  then  both 


152  Roland  and  Oliver. 

Advance  towards  their  posts,  in  fight  to  re-engage. 
And  now  behold  how  swiftly,  by  its  deepening  rage, 
The  combat  maddens  them  !     Back  to  each  heart  returns 
That  nameless  spirit,  which,  to  be  the  victor,  yearns, 
And  which  imbitter'd  by  the  fruitless  toils  of  fight, 
Now  adds  the  flash  of  eyes  to  weapons'  lesser  light. 

And  still  they  fight  while  streams  of  blood  adown  them  run. 
The  live-long  day  they  fight,  but  finally  the  sun 
Descends  into  the  west.     Tlie  niglit  comes  on.     "  Comrade," 
Says  Roland,  "  something's  wrong  ;  I'm  feeling  very  bad  : 
I've  hardly  strength  to  stand,  and  I  must  ask — 'tis  odd — 
Some  rest." 

"  'Tis  my  intention  by  the  aid  of  God," 
Says  Oliver,  who  smiled  a  smile  that  vanish 'd  soon, 
"  To  conquer  you  by  my  good  sword,  not  by  a  swoon  ; 
Come,  Roland,  lie  upon  the  grass  till  all  is  right, 
And  I  will  fan  you  with  my  plume  throughout  the  night ; 
Lie  down,  I  pray,  and  sleep." 

"  Nay,  boy,  thou  art  not  smart," 
Fierce  Roland  cries  ;  "  I  joked  ;  I  wished  to  try  thy  heart. 
I've  more  than  strength  enough  to  meet  thee  breast  to  breast 
For  e'en  four  days  and  nights  without  a  moment's  rest." 

The  fight  goes  on.     Death  eyes  t]ie  game.     Red  torrents  flow. 

Durandal  strikes  and  Closamont  returns  the  blow. 

On  every  side  fly  sparks,  as  steel  the  iron  bites. 

The  deep'ning  shades  around  are  fill'd  with  lurid  lights. 

And  still  they  fight.     The  river's  fog  mounts  all  ablaze, 

And  trav'lers  think  they  see  amid  the  light  and  haze 

Fantastic  woodmen  who  from  labor  never  cease. 


Roland  and  Oliver.  153 

The  day  returns.     The  clashings  of  their  blades  increase. 
Again  descends  the  sun,  and  still  they  fight.     The  skies 
Once  more  grow  bright,  and  yet  the  combat  never  dies. 
No  rest,  except  when  thrice  the  sun  his  own  had  found, 
They  sat  conversing,  for  a  moment,  on  the  ground. 
And  then  the  fight  resumed. 

The  old  Gerard,  in  Wien, 
For  three  long  days  had  not  his  look'd-for  son  yet  seen  ; 
And  now  for  news  he  bids  a  juggler  try  his  skiU. 
"  My  Lord,"  ere  long  the  juggler  said,  "  they're  fighting  still." 

Four  days  have  pass'd,  while  woods  and  rocks  and  isle  entire 

Have  quaked  beneath  this  monstrous  storm  of  steel  and  ire. 

They  meet,  retreat,  but  never  fly  nor  weary  creep. 

Now  here,  now  there  rain  blows  ;  together  streams  they  leap, 

And  grass  and  bushes,  mid  the  strife,  fling  far  and  wide, 

E'en  like  two  raging  whirlwinds  racing  side  by  side. 

Oh  giant  conflict!     Storm  of  thunderbolts  and  flame! 

But  Oliver,  at  length,  grasps  Roland's  sturdy  frame, 

Down  which  was  flowing  now  his  own  life  blood, 

And  hurls  his  famous  sword,  Durandal,  in  the  flood. 

"  And  now  my  turn  it  is,"  cries  Oliver,  "  to  send 
A  boatman  for  a  sword  wherewith  yourself  to  fend. 
The  sword  of  giant  Sinnagog  is  now  at  Wien  : 
Durandal's  match  it  is  in  point  of  stuff  and  sheen. 
My  father  won  it  from  the  giant  in  a  fight ; 
Accept  it."     Roland  smiles.     "  Nay,  I  shall  be  all  right 
With  this  "  ;  and  from  the  earth  uproots  an  oak  with  ease. 
Sir  Oliver  selects  an  elm  amongst  the  trees, 
And  throws  his  sword  away,  while  Roland,  less  aglow. 


154  Roland  and  Oliver. 

Renews  th»fight.     He  will  not  let  his  foeman  show 
The  gen'rous  dealing  he  himself  had  once  display'd. 

No  more  with  swords  in  hand,  no  more  in  casques  array'd. 
They  beat  each  other  now — to  wildest  fury  wrought — 
With' trunks  of  mighty  trees,  as  erst  the  giants  fought. 

Thus  far,  five  times  the  sun  had  sought  the  western  skies, 

When  Oliver — an  eagle  now  with  dove-like  eyes — 

Stops  short,  and  cries  :  "  This  combat,  Roland,  ne'er  will  stand 

As  long  as  there  shall  be  a  single  tree  at  hand. 

Like  lions  and  like  tigers,  we  shall  never  rest. 

That  brothers  we  henceforth  become,  were  it  not  best  ? 

I  have  a  sister,  sir — fair  Aude — with  arms  so  white — 

She  shall  be  yours." 

"By  heav'n!  "  cries  Roland,  "you  are  right," 
So  now,  let's  drink  ;  the  heat  begins  my  throat  to  goad." 
And  thus  it  was  that  Roland  won  the  lovely  Aude. 


*  Roland  and  Oliver  were  the  two  most  famous  of  the  twelve  paladins  of  Charle- 
magne. To  give  a  "  Roland  for  an  Oliver,"  is  to  give  as  good  as  you  receive.  Roland 
(called  Orlando  in  Italian)  is  the  hero  of  Ariosto's  Orlando  Furioso,  as  well  as  of  a  great 
many  tales  and  romances. 

t  Durandal  was  the  name  of  his  famous  sword  made  by  the  fairies,  and  of  such 
temper  that  it  would  "cleave  the  Pyrenees  at  a  blow." 


k 


\  / 


PYRAMUS  AND  THISBE. 


A  METAMORPHOSIS. 


FROM   THE     LATIN    OF   OVID. 


Within  those  far-famed  walls  'neath  which  Euphrates  moved, 
Once  lived  young  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  his  beloved. 
He  bravest  of  the  brave,  she  fairest  of  the  fair, 
Had  in  adjacent  homes  grown  up  a  hapless  pair. 
From  earliest  childhood  reared  within  each  other's  sight. 
Acquaintance  grew  to  love,  and  love,  at  last,  to  plight. 
But  parents  having  barr'd  what  could  not  be  denied, 
Unsatisfied  they  liv'd  and  lov'd  and  long'd  and  sigh'd  ; 
Yet  hid  from  all  around,  what  each  the  other  show'd, 
And  thus  the  more  conceal'd,  the  more  their  fire  glow'd. 

The  old  division  wall  that  'twixt  their  dwellings  ran, 
Contained  a  narrow  chink  whose  length  was  scarce  a  span. 
While  this  was  known  to  none,  though  ages  old  no  doubt, 
(What  will  not  love  perceive)  these  lovers  found  it  out ; 
And  safely  through  this  chink  their  voices  made  a  way. 
And  through  it  tender  words  they  murmured,  day  by  day. 
Oft  by  it,  as  they  stood — each  on  a  diff'rent  side — 
And  thus  allow'd  to  speak,  but  ah,  to  touch  denied  : 


156  Pyramus  and  Thishe. 

"  Oh  envious  Wall,"  they  cried,  "  Oh  why  our  love  defeat  ? 
How  little  were  it  now,  that  thou  should'st  let  us  meet ! 
Yet  if  this  be  too  much,  why,  e'en  our  kisses,  stay? 
Still  not  ungrateful  wc,  for  thou  afford'st  the  way, 
Whereby  our  sighs  may  pass,  nor  will  our  sighs  betray." 

Thus  all  the  livelong  day  they  sigh'd  and  chid  in  vain  ; 
And  when  night  came,  they  wept  and  vow'd  to  meet  again. 
And  e'en  the  stubborn  wall,  to  press  and  kiss,  were  fain. 
But  when  Aurora  now  the  stars  had  put  aside, 
And  Phcebus  with  his  rays,  the  moisten'd  herbage  dried. 
The  chink  they  sought  once  more,  and  then  once  more  began 
To  tell  their  loves  and  woes,  and  afterwards  to  plan 
Escape.     At  last  they  fix  a  night  to  leave  their  home  ; 
And  thro'  the  streets  to  fly, and  thro'  the  woods  to  roam. 
Bu-t  singly  they  must  go.     Lest  error  should  be  made, 
They  plan,  at  Ninus'  tomb,  to  meet  beneath  the  shade, 
There  offer'd  by  a  tree  that  snow-white  berries  bore — 
A  Morus  broad  whose  limbs,  a  fountain,  dangled  o'er. 
Exulting  now  they  wait  the  slowly-wasting  day, 
And  watch  the  shades  of  night  glide  o'er  each  roof  and  way. 
First  Thisbe  opes  her  door,  and  thro'  the  darkness  steals, 
But  better  to  deceive,  with  veil  her  face  conceals. 
And  hast'ning  to  the  tomb,  she  sits  beneath  the  tree. 

Love  boldness  gives  !     But  ah,  what  monster  can  this  be 
Approaching  her,  his  mouth  besmear'd  with  blood  of  prey  ? 
She  starts  !     A  lion  'tis  who  seeks  his  thirst  to  lay ! 
And  well  she  marks  his  form  beneath  the  moon's  pale  ray. 
She  flies  !     She  knows  not  where.     A  cave  her  progress  stops. 
She  rushes  in.     Alas  !  alas  !  her  veil  she  drops  ! 


I 


Pyramus  and  Thisbc.  157 

When  now  the  thirsty  beast  is  at  the  font  appeas'd, 

The  woods  he  seeks  ;  the  veil  he  finds,  and  having  seiz'd, 

To  tear  and  stain  it  with  his  bloody  mouth  is  pleas'd. 

Now  Pyramus  arrives, and   in  the  dust  the  trace 
Of  savage  beast  perceives,  while  pallor  clothes  his  face. 
But  when  the  bloody  veil  all  torn,  attracts  his  sight  : 
"  Alas  !  "  he  cries,  "  Death  takgs  two  lovers  in  one  night ; 
And  of  the  hapless  twain,  the  better  far  is  she. 
Oh  horrid  thought !     'Tis  I  that  killed  thee  !     Wretched  ine  ! 
'Tis  I  that  sent  thee  here  by  night,  nor  did  attend. 
Nor  even  thee  precede  !     Oh  now  my  body  rend ! 
My  vitals  now  consume  !     Me  now  attack  and  mock, 
Ye  beasts  whate'er  ye  be  that  dwell  l)eneath  this  rock  !  " 

Death  cowards  simply  wish  :  a  coward  none  was  he  ; 
But  hfting  Thisbe's  veil  he  bears  it  to  the  tree. 
And  to  it  kisses  gives  ;  of  tears,  pours  out  a  flood, 
And  murmurs  to  it  low  :  "  Dear  Veil,  take,  too,  my  blood  !  " 
Then  with  it  wraps  his  sword,  and  bowing  to  the  ground. 
He  drives  it  in  his  breast,  then  draws  it  from  the  wound. 
Pursuing  close  the  blade,  the  hot  blood,  now  enlarg'd — 
Like  prison'd  waters,  when  some  faulty  pipe  o'ercharg'd 
Therewith,  gives  way  and  thro'  the  gap  them  freely  lets — 
Vehement  bursts,  and  breaks  in  scores  of  tiny  jets. 
The  berries  of  the  tree  thus  sprinkled  with  the  blood, 
Their  whiteness  lose  ;  the  roots  drenched  by  the  purple  flood. 
Thenceforth  the  Punic  dye  e'er  carry  to  the  bud. 

And  fear  now  laid  aside  ;  and  lest  he  should  complain, 
The  maiden  hastens  forth  her  lover  to  regain. 


158  Pyramus  and  Thisbe. 

And  all  her  ills  relate,  and  prove  that  still  she's  true. 

But  coming  to  the  tree,  perceives  its  alter'd  hue. 
"  'Tis  strange  !  "  she  murmurs  low,  "  Ah,  have  I  lost  my  way?  " 

And  thus  in  doubt,  her  eyes  towards  the  body  stray. 

She  starts  in  terror  back  ;  her  cheeks  now  lose  their  glow  ; 

The  current  of  her  blood  halts  in  its  peaceful  flow. 

As  when  the  quiet  stream  is  smitten  by  the  storm. 

Now  fixedly  she  looks,  and  know^  her  lover's  form  ; 

And.,now  she  beats  her  breast  and  to  him  loudly  calls, 

And  tears  her  golden  hair,  and  on  his  body  falls. 

And  bathes  his  wounds  with  tears  ;  his  blood  to  staunch  she  tries ; 

With  kisses  mingling  sobs,  with  fierce  caresses  cries : 
"  Oh  Pyramus  !     What  fate  hath  taken  thee  from  me  ? 

Oh  Pyramus,  but  speak  !     Thy  Thisbe  calls  to  thee  ! 

Oh  hear  me,  my  beloved  !     Thine  eyes  but  let  me  see  !  " 

And  at  that  name  and  voice  those  eyes  half  ope  in  pain  ; 

But  with  one  tender  look  on  her  they  close  again. 

Then  first  she  spies  her  veil  wrapp'd  'round  the  naked  blade  ; 

And  springing  up,  she  cries  :  "  Thy  hand  this  wound  hath  made  ! 

'Tis  for  my  love  thou  died'st !     As  strong  a  hand  have  I, 

And  love  as  strong  as  thine  can  likewise  help  me  die ! 

Oh  yes,  I'll  follow  thee,  and  as  thou  died'st  for  me, 

Thy  consort  I'll  become,  and  parted  though  I  be 

By  death,  ah  yet  in  death  I  still  can  fly  to  thee ! 

0  wretched  parents  thine  !     0  wretched  parents  mine ! 

May  these  last  dying  words  your  hearts  at  least  incline 

To  place  us  in  one  tomb — all  now  that  can  be  done 

For  two  who  lived  to  love,  who  died  at  last  but  one ! 

And  thou,  oh  Tree,  'neath  whom  now  lies  one  lover  dead, 


4 


I 


Pyramus  and  TIdshe,  159 

Shalt  thy  protecting  arms  soon  o'er  another  spread ! 
Keep  thou  grim  Slaughter's  sign  as  witness  of  'our  pain, 
And  henceforth  and  fore'er,  black  let  thy  fruit  remain  !" 
Then  aiming  well  the  sword  by  which  her  lover  died, 
She  leans  upon  its  point  and  falls  hard  by  his  side. 
Her  prayer  the  gods  nor  scorned,  nor  did  the  parents  spurn, 
For  Morus-berries  still  from  white  to  black  e'er  turn ; 
And  what  she  also  ask'd  :  they  rest  both  in  one  urn. 


PHILEMON   AND   BAUCIS. 


FROM    THE     LATIN     OF    OVID. 


Among  the  Phrygian  hills  may  even  now  be  found 
A  linden  and  an  oak  which  modest  walls  surround  ; 
And,  close  at  hand,  a  lake  where  fields  were  wont  to  bloom, 
But  now  of  ducks  and  coots  the  solitary  home. 
Here  Jove,  in  mortal  form,  came  on  a  certain  day. 
While  Hermes  with  his  rod,  before  him  led  the  way. 
In  search  of  food  and  rest,  a  thousand  doors  they  tried ; 
Of  all  the  thousand  doors,  but  one  was  open'd  wide  : 
This  to  a  cot  belonged  whose  roof  with  reeds  was  thatch'd  ; 
And  here  Philemon  dwelt,  in  years  with  Baucis  matched. 
Here  both  in  youthful  prime,  had  come  as  man  and  wife. 
And  here  had  aged  grown,  here  led  an  humble  life. 
Here  both  had  always  dwelt,  each  to  the  other  all, 
And  each  to  serve  or  bid,  howe'er  the  roll  might  fall, 
Displayed  an  equal  gi-ace,  whale'er  might  be  the  call. 

The  gods,  on  finding  now  a  place  whei-ein  to  rest, 
Pass'd  thro'  the  lowly  door  with  heads,  forsooth,  depress'd  ; 
And  straight  the  aged  host  a  bench  before  them  drew, 
And  Baucis  thereupon  a  homely  eov'ring  threw  ; 
Then  to  the  hearth  repair'd  and  from  the  ashy  bed 


I 


J 


Philemon  and  Baucis.  1(J1 

Brought  out  a  spark  which  quick  with  leaves  and  bark  she  fed. 
And  blowing  womanlike,  the  flames  all  o'er  them  spread. 
Her  closet  then  she  oped,  and  cloven  wood  thence  took, 
And  heaping  this  well  up,  the  pot  placed  on  the  hook. 

Meantime,  Philemon  had  from  out  the  garden  brought 
Most  sav'ry  herbs  ;  and  from  the  beams  o'erhead  had  caught — 
By  dint  of  handling  well  a  long  and  two-prong'd  fork — 
A  flitch — oft  hack'd  before — of  tender  smoke-dried  pork. 
From  this  he  quickly  cut  as  much  as  would  suffice. 
And  in  the  boiling  pot  then  dropp'd  the  unctuous  slice. 
While  all  with  laugh  and  joke,  the  passing  moments  cheat. 
Nor  feel  delay.     A  basin  used  to  bathe  the  feet, 
Of  beech-wood  made  and  hanging  on  the  wall  close  by. 
With  water  being  filled,  the  gods  its  virtue  try. 
A  willow  couch  stands  near,  whereon  they  may  recline 
And  rest  their  weary  limbs  and  at  their  leisure  dine. 
O'er  this  a  cloth  is  spread — a  festal  cloth  'tis  deem'd — 
Quite  old  and  cheap,  'tis  true,  yet  well  the  couch  beseem'd. 
Thereon  the  gods  recline  ;  and  now  the  tott'ring  dame 
A  table  by  them  puts,  one  leg  whereof  is  lame. 
This  she  repairs  with  tiles,  in  guise  of  prop  and  splint, 
And  when  'tis  firm,  she  rubs  the  boards  with  sprigs  of  mint. 
Minerva's  mottled  fruit,  the  olive,  on  it  lays, 
And  cornels  soak'd  in  wine,  she  temptingly  displays, 
And  succ'ry,  too,  and  roots  and  lumps  of  whitest  cheese, 
And  eggs  in  ashes  left  just  long  enough  to  please. 
hi  earthen  vessels  all.     And  then  a  bowl  is  brought 
Of  sculptur'd  clay,  with  cups  from  beech- wood  neatly  wrought, 
Well  rubb'd  inside  with  wax  all  leakage  to  prevent. 
11 


162  Philemon  and  Baucis. 

No  time  is  lost :  the  food  warm  from  the  pot  is  sent ; 
Then  wines  are  brought — not  old,  nor  yet  of  vaunted  source ; 
And  these  removed  ere  long,  on  comes  the  second  course 
Of  nuts  and  figs  and  wrinkled  palms  together  laid, 
And  apples,  too,  and  prunes  in  baskets  well  display'd  ; 
And  grapes  collected  freshly  from  the  purple  vines  ; 
And  honey,  too  ;  but  best  of  all,  a  face  that  shines 
With  looks  of  hearty  welcome  for  her  way-worn  guests. 

But  look  !     Some  magic  power,  each  empty  cup  attests. 
Each  seems  to  fill  itself,  and  emptied,  fill  again. 
Whence  comes  the  wine  ?     The  hosts  affrighted  search  in  vain ; 
Then  falling  down  before  their  guests,  forgiveness  pray 
For  ofif'ring  food  so  mean  to  beings  such  as  they. 

A  sacrifice  to  make,  Philemon  speeds  in  chase 
Of  Baucis'  only  goose,  custodian  of  the  place. 
The  goose  was  quick  of  wing,  the  old  folk  slow  of  feet, 
And  so,  at  every  turn,  the  goose  was  sure  to  beat ; 
And  flying  to  the  guests,  from  sacrifice  is  spared. 
"  Stay  !     We  are  gods !     Yours  be  reward  for  bounty  shared," 
They  cried,  "but  woe  to  those  who  spurn'd  us  from  their  door! 
Yet  you  must  quit  this  peaceful  cot  forevermore. 
And  up  yon  mountain  take  with  us  the  toilsome  way." 

The  gods  move  forth  ;  the  hosts  their  high  commands  obey ; 
But  'tis  with  stiff  and  aged  limbs  they  mount  the  steep  ; 
And  now  when  from  the  top  they  were  an  arrow's  flight. 
They  look'd  behind  and  lo,  the  fields  had  fled  from  sight ! 
Submerged  was  every  cot  save  their  dear  cot  alone  ! 
And  while  they  wond'ring  gaze,  and  for  their  neighbors  moan. 


Philemon  and  Baucis.  163 

That  cot — that  aged  cot — which  once  but  two  could  hold — 
A  fane  becomes,  and  columns  from  its  props  unfold. 
Its  yellow  reed-thatch'd  roof,  in  gleaming  gold,  is  wrought ; 
And  marble  pavements  rise  and  doors  with  carvings  fraught. 
And  while  amazed  they  gaze,  Jove  thus  bespeaks  the  pair  : 
"  Ask,  worthy  man  and  wife — oh  man  and  wife  most  rare  ! — 
Ask  what  you  will ;  'tis  yours  !  " 

With  Baucis  now  alone 
Philemon  counsels  low,  and  thus  their  wish  makes  known  : 
"  To  be  thy  priests,  great  Jove,  and  at  thy  altar  bow. 
We  ask  ;  and  since  in  peace  we've  lived,  and  live  e'en  now, 
That  we  together  die,  nor  that  my  long-loved  wife 
Be  buried  in  my  sight,  nor  she  outlive  my  life." 

Their  prayer  was  heard.     The  temple's  keepers  they  were  made, 

And  thenceforth  lived.     Years  left  their  love  all  undecay'd. 

But  one  day,  as  they  stand  before  the  temple's  gate. 

In  converse  sweet,  Philemon  gazing  on  his  mate, 

Beholds  her  limbs  transformed,  her  head  a  crown  of  leaves, 

And  Baucis  likewise,  him  thus  change,  while  neither  grieves  ; 

And  as  to  stately  trees  they  see  each  other  swell. 

They  murmur,  each  to  each,  and  o'er  and  o'er  :  "  Farewell !  " 

And  when  no  longer  one  can  see  the  other's  face. 

They  blindly,  lovingly,  their  branches  interlace. 

These  trees  are  standing  still ;  and  what  I  here  narrate, 
Is  meant  not  to  deceive.     In  fact,  I've  seen  of  late. 
The  branches  deck'd  with  wreaths  ;  and  seeing  them,  I  said 
The  gods  will  honor  pay,  for  honors  to  them  paid. 


THE   WHEEL  OF  HEUSDEN. 


FROM   THE   DUTCH   OF   W.    BILDERDIJK. 


"  A  cry,  a  cry  !     My  lady,  hark  ! 
Outside  the  castle  walls. 
A  weary  traveler  I  see  ; 
For  shelter,  'tis  he  calls." 

"  A  traveler  ?     And  we  alone, 
My  husband  off  so  far  ! 
Alas,  a  traitor  he  might  prove 
Should  1  the  gates  unbar." 

"  The  moonlight  shows  there  is  but  one. 
And  harmless  he  appears, 
And,  ah,  the  winter's  wind  is  sharp  ; 
Pray,  lady,  quell  thy  fears." 

"  If  honest  and  alone  he  seem, 
Admit  him  to  the  hall ; 
But,  Herman,  keep  thyself  awake 
And  ready  at  my  call. 


The  Wheel  of  Heusden.  165 

"  A  strange  presentiment  I  feel, 

Yet  know  not  whence  it  comes  ; 
And  every  fibre  of  my  heart 
It  reaches  and  benumbs." 


Wide  swung  the  castle's  pond'rous  gates, 
And  through,  the  wand'rer  hied, 

To  find  a  shelter  'neath  the  roof, 
As  well  as  Robert's  bride. 

And  homage,  too,  the  wand'rer  found, 

As  high  his  head  he  bore, 
And  with  a  soldier's  step  he  trod 

The  sounding  marble  floor. 

His  voice,  as  out  he  boldly  spake. 

Made  all  the  arches  ring, 
While  every  movement  of  his  limbs 

Betoken'd  him  a  king. 

The  lady  sat  beside  her  maid, 

Whose  hand  a  distaff  fed, 
And  from  a  buzzing  spinning-wheel, 

She  drew  a  purple  thread. 

A  well-trimmed  silver  lamp — by  which 

Was  lit  the  vaulted  space — 
A  shadow  o'er  her  visage  threw. 

But  lighted  up  his  face. 


166  The  Wheel  of  Heusden. 

"  I  give  thee  welcome,  sir,  she  said : 
The  wind  is  keen  outside  ; 
My  hearth  and  bread  thou  shalt  enjoy, 
And  here  the  morrow  bide. 


"  Come,  sit  thee  down  ;  an  evening  dish 
The  maid  shall  for  thee  fetch, 
And  on  a  bed  and  'neath  a  quilt, 
Shalt  then  thy  limbs  outstretch." 

"  I  will  accept,  my  lady  fair, 
With  many  thanks,  I  trow, 
Your  roof,  your  bread,  your  water-cup, 
For  I  am  weary  now. 

"  By  more  than  this,  thou  shalt  not  find 
That  I  can  be  beguiled 
So  long  as  I  must  vainly  seek 
My  child,  my  only  child." 

"  Your  child ! "  cried  Ada,  looking  up. 

"  A  daughter,"  he  replied, 
"  An  only  child,  for  whom,  alas, 

I've  vainly  sought  and  sigh'd. 

"  All  countries  have  I  wandered  through, 
To  earth's  remotest  shore, 
But  only  locks  of  snow  to  find 
And  limbs  all  stiff  and  sore. 


The  Wheel  of  Heusden.  167 

"  Oh,  no,  I  never  will  accept 
A  bed  whereon  to  rest, 
Till  God  hath  granted  me  the  bliss 
To  press  her  to  my  breast." 


And  then  he  lifts  his  hand  to  swear, 

While  she  in  mute  amaze 
And  trembling,  turns  away  her  face, 

Beneath  the  wand'rer's  gaze. 

Her  panting  bosom  seeks  relief ; 

Alas  her  tongue  is  bound. 
While  droops  her  head  upon  her  breast, 

Her  breast  in  tears  all  drown'd. 

In  vain  she  tries  to  move  her  lips. 
Her  painful  thoughts  to  tell. 

In  vain  she  tries  to  hide  the  thoughts 
That  now  her  bosom  swell. 

The  lamp  gives  forth  its  light  in  vain, 

Her  features  to  reveal. 
For  all  the  while,  she  keeps  them  hid, 

And  dumb  becomes  the  wheel. 

"  My  grief — a  father's  bitter  grief" — 
Thus  speaks  the  stranger  guest — 

"  Has,  noble  dame,  your  pity  stirr'd 
And  robb'd  your  soul  of  rest. 


168  The  Wheel  of  Heusden. 

"  I  thank  and  bless  your  tender  heart ; 
May  God,  whose  love  is  great, 
Should  you  a  mother  e'er  become. 
Preserve  you  from  my  fate. 

"  Oh,  be  it  never  yours  to  feel 
The  pang  that  must  be  borne, 
When  in  an  old  and  doting  breast, 
The  heart  is  wrung  and  torn." 

Up  sprang  the  lady  with  a  cry, 
Then  falls  and  swoons  away, 

While  maid  and  grey-beard  on  her  gaze 
In  wonder  and  dismay. 

Anon  beside  her  prostrate  form 

They  kneel  to  bathe  her  face, 
And  to  her  lips  they  hold  the  lamp, 

Some  sign  of  life  to  trace. 

She  starts  and  with  bewilder'd  look 

Regards  her  aged  guest, 
And  then  unconscious  sinks  again. 

Her  lips  the  firmer  press'd. 

And  now  the  work  of  death  seems  done. 
For  stifled  is  her  slightest  moan, 

And  smooth'd  her  brow  and  stretch'd  her  frame 
As  lifeless  as  a  stone. 


Tlie  Wheel  of  Heusden,  169 

Hark !     Bugle  notes  the  welkin  fill, 

And  cries  are  heard  without ; 
And  far  above  them  all  ascends 

Her  husband's  well-known  shout. 

She  hears  ;  she  shrieks :  "  'Tis  Heusden's  voice, 

My  husband,  true  and  brave  ! 
He  comes  ;  he  comes  !     My  Heusden  comes, 

To  snatch  me  from  the  grave !  " 

Wide  flew  the  gates  ;  the  knight  darts  through, 

And  up  the  steps  he  bounds, 
And  with  the  clatter  of  his  heels 

The  marble  hall  resounds. 

O'erjoyed,  he  flies  to  meet  his  wife, 
Now  on  her  knees  upraised, 
"Oh  God,"  she  cries,  "  Once  more,  once  more, 
I  see  thee  !     God  be  praised  !  " 

"  What  ails  thee,  love  ?     What  means  this  scene  ? 
Am  I  not  by  thy  side  ? 
And  did  thy  Heusden  ever  fail 
Whatever  might  betide  ?  " 

With  torches  now  the  servants  come. 

The  hall  is  all  ablaze  ; 
And  now  the  aged  trav'ler  meets 

The  knight's  astonished  gaze. 


170  The  Wheel  of  Heusden. 

"  Ho !  "  shouts  the  knight,  "  'Tis  England's  king !  " 

"  Ha,  Heusden!  "  he  repUes, 
"  Oh  father  mine,  oh  father  mine  !  " 
The  lady  faintly  cries. 

"  Forgive  me,  father,  oh  forgive  I  " 
Entreats  she  now  her  sire. 
And  Etheliin  his  daughter  knows, 
And  all  his  blood  's  on  fire. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  cries,  "  I'm  England's  king. 
The  father  without  child, 
And,  Heusden,  thou  the  robber  art. 
That  hath  her  thus  beguil'd  ! 

'*  Restore  her,  robber  !     Yield  thy  prey  ; 

Or  tremble  'neatli  my  blade  !  " 
"  I  tremble  ?     I  ?  "  brave  Heusden  cries, 
"  I  tremble  ?     I  afraid  ? 

"  Kind  heaven  gave  me  Ada's  heart. 
You  scorn'd  my  offer  fair. 
And  I  a  knight,  your  equal,  too, 
For  I,  to  kings,  am  heir !  " 

"  Oh  father,  be  no  tyrant  now. 
But  hear  thine  Ada's  plaints  ; 
The  heart  is  never  ruled  by  force  ; 
Love  thrives  amid  restraints. 


The  Wheel  of  ffeusden.  171 

"  It  is  too  late  to  claim  thy  child : 
God  wills  that  right  shall  reign. 
Thy  pride  is  cruelty  alone, 
And  all  thy  rage  is  vain. 

"  I  holy  vows  have  made,  and  thou 
Must  e'en  be  reconciled  : 
I  am  the  wife  of  Heusden  here. 
He, father  of  my  child." 

"  Enough  ;  your  offspring  moves  my  heart, 
Barbarian  plumed  and  mailed  ! 
As  father,  you  have  conquered  me, 
As  robber,  you  had  fail'd  ! 

"  It  must  be  so  ;  inhuman  'twere 
My  blood  to  evil  treat — 
Alas,  that  blood  with  miscreant's  mixed. 
And  Ada  at  his  feet !  " 

In  grief  his  head  drops  on  his  breast, 

And  on  the  floor  he  sees 
His  child  and  Heusden  lowly  bent, 

And  clinging  to  his  knees. 

"  Oh,  father,"  sobbed  the  blooming  bride, 
Let  now  thine  anger  cease, 
And  bless  our  vows  and  bless  our  child. 
And  God  shall  give  us  peace !  " 


172  *      TJie  Wheel  of  Heusden. 

The  King  to  heav'n  now  lifts  his  eyes, 
Drench'd  by  a  kindly  flood  : 
"  Oh  God,"  he  cries,  "  It  must  be  so ; 
They  are  my  blood,  my  blood  ! 


"  Forgive,  as  I  forgive  them  both, 
What  they  to  me  have  done. 
A  hero  thou  hast  Ada  sent, 
And  me,  a  princely  son  ! 

"  Rise,  Ada  !     Heusden,  she  is  yours  1 
I  yield  ;  it  must  be  so. 
And  God,  who  lets  me  see  my  child, 
I'll  trust  in  weal  or  woe. 

"  Long  live  the  glory  of  your  house. 
Through  sons  who,  in  accord, 
'Gainst  wrong  to  fight,  and  for  the  right, 
Shall  boldly  wield  the  sword. 

"  On  your  escutcheon  henceforth  place 
This  buzzing  spinning  wheel, 
That  call'd  me  here  beneath  your  roof, 
My  jewel  to  reveal. 

"  And  now,  at  last,  my  weary  limbs 
May  taste  your  proffered  rest. 
For  now  my  vow  has  been  fulfilled, 
And  God  my  trial  bless'd." 


HANS    GROVENDRAAD. 


FROM  THE   FLEMISH   OF  JAN    VAN   RYSWICK. 


Hans  Grovendraad,  an  honest  clown, 
By  cobbling  in  his  native  town, 

Had  earned  a  living  ever. 
His  work  was  strong  and  clean  and  fine, 
And  none  who  served  at  Crispin's  shrine 

Was  at  his  trade  more  clever. 

Besides — what  many  liked  to  see — 
He  had  a  heart  both  stout  and  free. 

And  well  his  thoughts  propounded. 
In  doing  right,  none  was  more  bold  ; 
Nor  would  he  for  a  mine  of  gold. 

The  truth  e'er  suffer  wounded. 

Not  e'en  the  mayor  nor  the  priest 
Could  budge  him  from  his  path  the  least, 

Except  by  force  of  reason. 
And  aught  that  truth  and  right  betray'd. 
As  I've  already  plainly  said, 

He  look'd  upon  as  treason. 


174  Hans  Grovendraad. 

Alas,  this  able-bodied  wight, 
Like  others  had  to  toil  and  fight, 

An  honest  living  seeking  ; 
And  often  sorry  gains  could  make, 
And  when  of  buying  e'er  he  spake, 

Of  pay  were  others  speaking. 


Dame  Fortune,  whimsical  and  blind. 
His  dwelling  never  seem'd  to  find, 

And  few  his  friendship  sought  for ; 
So  with  his  stone  upon  his  lap, 
The  needed  bread  and  meat  and  pap 

For  wife  and  babes  he  wrought  for. 


And  when  folks  saw  him  on  his  bench, 

They  cried  :  "  His  sign -board  's  not  in  French ; 

He  's  nothing  but  a  pegger. 
And  seems  to  hate  whatever 's  new, 
So,  mind  you,  in  a  year  or  two, 

He'll  be  a  common  beggar." 


"  Yes,"  said  another,  "  he  's  a  fool. 
And  knows  not  how  his  tongue  to  rule, 

But  always  keeps  it  wagging. 
In  times  like  these,  he  who  will  preach 
And  cares  not  whom  his  talk  may  reach, 

Can't  long  of  luck  be  bragging." 


Hans  Grovendraad.  175 

"  Yes,"  said  a  third,  with  lengthen'd  face, 

"  How  can  it  else  wise  be  ?     God's  grace ! 

He  don't  serve  even  mammon  ! 

On  Sundays,  never  goes  to  mass. 

And  then, confound  the  shameless  ass. 

He  says  :  '  Good  works  are  gammon.' 


"  When  priests  in  prayer  go  through  the  street, 
He  runs  himself  half  off  his  feet, 

To  'scape  God's  service  'tending ; 
With  heretics,  far  more  than  wife, 
He  loves  to  spend  his  godless  life. 

He'll  pay,  though,  his  offending." 


And  so  his  neighbors  all  irate, 
Pounced  down  upon  the  cobbler's  pate  ; 

But  nothing  Hans  resented. 
*'  They're  fools,"  thought  he,  "  so  let  them  rest. 
But  I  will  try  to  do  my  best." 

And  thus  he  worked  contented. 


One  day,  scarce  heeding  this  or  that, 
Hard  working  o'er  a  shoe  he  sat — 

Some  patches  putting  in  iJL — 
To  gratify  a  restless  lout 
Who  said  that  "  Sure,  the  shoe  without, 

He  could  not  live  a  minute." 


176  Satis  Grovendraad. 

Just  then,  a  dame  with  visage  fair, 
But  with  a  terror-stricken  air. 

Within  the  shop  came  shrieking, 
Her  arms  in  supphcation  raised, 
As  if  some  fiend,  by  passion  crazed, 

Her  hfe  was  madly  seeking. 


"  Oh  Hans  !  "  she  cried,  "  my  honest  friend, 
I  pray  thee,  thy  protection  lend, 
I  know  not  where  to  hide  me. 
The  people,  wheresoe'er  I  go, 
Assail,  and  dirt  upon  me  throw. 
And  shamefully  deride  me." 


"  What  ails  thee,  dame,"  cried  Grovendraad, 

"  That  thus  thou  boundest  in  like  mad  ? 

Speak  out,  don't  be  affrighted ! 

I'm  always  prompt  to  help  the  right. 

And  for  thy  sake  would  gladly  fight, 

And  see  thy  wrongs  requited." 


Then  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh  she  said 
"  To  persecution  doomed,  I've  fled 

Through  ever^  town  and  city. 
But  shelter,  I  can  no  where  find. 
And  though  for  help  I've  begg'd  and  pined, 

I  can  obtain  no  pity. 


Hans  Grovendraad.  177 

"  At  last  a  refuge  here  I  souglit, 
For  liere  a  friend  to  find,  I  thought ; 
Alas,  the  people  knew  me  ! 
'  Away ! '  they  cried,  '  Get  out,  thou  hag. 
Thy  body  through  the  streets  we'll  drag ! 
Get  out,  thou  witch  !     Beshrew  thee ! ' 


"  They  seemed  intent  upon  my  life  : 
'  There  goes,'  they  scream'd,  '  old  Satan's  wife, 

Who  does  us  so  much  evil ; 
Now,  at  her,  boys,  with  sticks  and  stones 
And  pelt  her  well  and  break  her  bones 
And  send  her  to  the  devil ! ' 


"  And  then  I  ran — for  death  I  fear'd — 
All  wounded  and  with  mud  besmear'd, 

No  strength,  alas,  remaining  ; 
Aye,  here  to  you  in  hope  I  flew, 
To  save  me  from  the  rabble  crew. 

Whose  rage  is  past  restraining. 


"  Please  keep  me  till  the  evening  here, 
And  then  I'll  go,  although  I  fear 

That  outside  I'm  awaited. 
Where  then,  perhaps,  'twould  only  end 
In  robbing  thee  of  every  friend 

And  heaping  on  thee  hatred." 


178  Hans  Grovendraad. 

Quotli  Hans :  "  That 's  neither  here  nor  there ; 
Thy  safety  now  is  my  affair  ; 

I  raise  o'er  thee  my  banners, 
And  thou  shalt  here  abide  with  me, 
And  shalt  from  every  fear  be  free  ; 

I'll  leach  these  fellows  mannei-s ! 


"  Sit  down,  sit  down !     Don't  fear  at  all ! 
Remove  thy  doubts  ;  remove  thy  shawl ; 

My  "Cvife  will  soon  attend  thee. 
Don't  mind  these  addle-pated  folk  ; 
They  only  mean  to  have  a  joke ; 

A  good  square  meal  will  mend  thee." 


When  evening  came,  a  hellish  roar 
Arose  before  the  cobbler's  door  : 

"  Hi,  Hans !  The  devil  take  thee  ! 
Give  up  that  witch,  thou  cursed  lout ! 
Unlock  the  door  !     She  must  come  out ! 

Unlock  it,  or  we'll  make  thee !  " 


"  Oh  yes,"  cries  one,  "  I  know  she's  here. 
The  scoundrel  harbors  her,  'tis  clear ; 

Don't  spare  the  vile  Free-mason, 
The  swindler,  aye,  the  devil's  son  ; 
Not  worse,  the  stars  e'er  shone  upon  ; 

The  town  he  brings  disgrace  on  ! 


Hans  Grovendraad.  179 


"  He  shall  not  sew  another  stitch 
If,  for  a  single  day,  this  witch 

He  dare  to  take  the  care  of ; 
And  he  who  ere  a  shoe  shall  send 
To  this  ungodly  wretch  to  mend, 

Had  best  his  life  beware  of. 


"  It  is  a  thing  that  one  can't  stand, 
To  let  this  woman  plague  the  land 

With  her  accurs'd  behavior  ; 
She  brings  upon  us  hell's  own  flames  ; 
The  country's  government  defames. 

And  e'en  the  blessed  Saviour !  " 


"  Hark  ! "  cries  the  dame,  "  Hark,  honest  Hans! 
Thou  runn'st  a  very  narrow  chance. 

In  giving  me  thine  aid,  sir  ; 
These  brutes  will  rob  thee  of  thy  bread ; 
And  me  to  have,  alive  or  dead. 
They  mean  to  make  a  raid,  sir !  " 


"  Oh  fiddlesticks  !  "  quoth  Grovendraad, 
"Thou  canst  not  think  that  I'm  a  lad 
So  easily  affrighted ; 
These  fellows  are  both  blind  and  dumb 
And  he  that  will  to  them  succumb, 
Is  ten-fold  more  benighted!  " 


180  Hans  Grovendraad. 

Poor  Hans  !     He  did  not  die  that  year, 
But,  then,  to  him  'twas  very  clear 

He  made  not  much  by  cobbling  ; 
And  though  he  worked  and  tried  to  live, 
He  never  could  the  reason  give 

Why  his  affairs  went  hobbling. 


A  home,  at  last,  he  was  without, 
And  all  his  goods  went  up  the  spout. 

Nor  could  lie  beg  nor  borrow. 
With  broken  heart  and  aching  liead. 
The  poor-house  gave  him  then  a  bed 

And  there  he  died  of  sorrow. 


And  now,  my  friend,  you  want  to  know 
The  dame  who  wrought  for  Hans  such  woe, 

And  all  his  prospects  ended  : 
The  tale  is  true  for  every  clime, 
And  has  l)een  true  throughout  all  time — 

Hans  had  Dame  Truth  defended. 


ARION. 


FROM   THE  GERMAN  OF  A.    W.    SCHLEGBL. 

Arion,  prince  of  Grecian  singers — 

Whose  harp  seem'd  living  in  his  hand 
And  ever  glad  to  feel  his  fingers  ; 

Who  welcome  found  in  every  land — 
In  ship  with  gold  well  freighted, 
Tarentum  left  elated, 
To  seek  his  home  on  Hellas'  strand. 

To  seek  his  friend  so  long  desired — 

His  friend  who  over  Corinth  reign'd, 
Who, when  to  roam,  he  first  felt  fired, 

His  purpose  would  have  thus  restrain'd ; 

"  Here  share  with  me  my  treasures ; 
Here  seek  with  me  thy  pleasures  ; 

He  loses  oft  who  thinks  he  's  gained." 

Arion  cried  :  "The  wish  is  planted 

In  every  poet's  breast  to  rove. 
Art,  which  to  me  Apollo  granted, 

A  thousand  lusts  now  seems  to  move. 
If  I   with  wealth  come  freighted  ; 
If,  too,  with  glory  weighted. 
Thou,  Periander,  must  approve." 


182  Arion. 

And  now  he  comes.     The  second  morning, 
On  deck  he  quaffs  the  breeze  at  rest : 
"  Oh  Periander,  vain  thy  warning  : 

Thou  'It  lose  thy  cares  upon  my  breast ; 
And  gifts  to  heav'n  we'll  tender ; 
And  grateful  homage  render, 
While  mirth  and  songs  our  joys  attest." 

The  wind  and  waves  had  all  subsided ; 

The  sailors  sighing  pass'd  him  by. 
But  never  had  he  much  confided 

In  waves  that  sleep  and  men  that  sigh. 
He  marks  the  crew  low  speaking  ; 
He  knows  his  wealth  they're  seeking, 
And  soon  he  hears  them  loudly  cry  : 

"  Thy  doom,  Arion,  is  decided  ; 

'Tis  death,  but  not  on  shore  a  grave  ! 
Take,  take  the  knife  for  thee  provided  ; 
Take  !     Take,  or  leap  beneath  the  wave  !  " 
"  Must  hope,"  he  cries,  "  thus  perish  ? 

Accept  what  less  I  cherish — 
Accept  my  wealth,  my  life  but  save  !  " 

"  Ho,  ho  !     And  would'st  thou  live  and  wander  ? 
And  then  a  lesson  have  us  taught  ? 
Ha,  ha !     Before  King  Periander, 

Woulds't  thou  for  robb'ry  have  us  brought  ? 
No,  no !     Thy  goodly  treasure 
Gould  give  us  little  pleasure, 
If  thy  return  must  haunt  our  thought." 


Arion,  183 

"  Since  I  can  live  on  no  condition," 

The  harpist  cried  without  a  sigh, 
"  At  least  accord  the  poor  petition 
That  as  I  lived,  1  so  may  die  ; 
And  when  my  song  is  ended, 
My  cithern's  tones  expended, 
I'll  bid  the  world  a  last  good-bye."  * 

No  human  feelings  in  them  linger  : 

His  gold  they  seek  ;  his  life  is  naught; 
But,  ah,  to  hear  so  great  a  singer 
At  once  engages  every  thought. 
"  If  you,"  he  cries,  "  would  listen, 

I  must  in  jewels  glisten. 
For  thus  alone  my  muse  is  caught." 

So  then  his  well-shaped  limbs  resplendent 

In  gold  and  purple  he  arrays. 
While  o'er  his  god-like  form  goes  pendent 
A  robe  whose  folds  with  jewels  blaze  ; 
And,  dazzling  his  beholders. 
All  o'er  his  neck  and  shoulders 
His  golden  hair  in  ringlets  plays. 

The  cithern  on  his  bosom  slumbers  ; 

His  right  hand  on  the  strings  he  lays ; 
From  every  breeze  drinks  heavenly  numbers 
And  glistens  'mid  the  morning  rays. 
The  sailors  stood  astounded. 
He  to  the  ship-side  bounded, 
And  thus  began  his  song  to  raise. 


184  Arion. 

"  Dear  Cithern,  comrade  of  my  measures, 
Come  with  me  to  the  land  of  Night ! 
A  stranger  Phito's  dog,  displeasures, 
But  he  shall  feel  sweet  music's  might  I 
Elysium's  heroes  yonder. 
Ye  who  in  bliss  now  wander, 
I  greet  you  in  the  realms  of  light  1 

"  But  can  ye  drive  away  my  anguish  ? 
I  leave  my  dearest  friend  behind. 
Thou,  Orpheus,  did'st  in  Hades  languish. 
Thy  fair  Eurydice  to  find. 
As  but  a  dream  she  tarried — 
That  prize  thy  lyre  carried — 
And  thou  thenceforth  fled'st  womankind. 

"  I  meet  my  death  by  fear  unshaken. 

The  gods  on  high  close  wardship  keep  ; 
They  see  a  life  defenseless  taken. 
And  doom  you,  caitiffs,  when  I  leap. 
I  come  Nereides  bravely  ! 
I  come,  a  stranger,  save  me  !  " 
And  then  he  sprang  down  in  the  deep. 

The  waves  had  scarce  Arion  covered, 

When  safe  his  murd'rers  sailed  away ; 
But  dolphins  close  behind  him  hovered, 
Some  magic  power  to  obey. 

And  when  the  flood  infolds  him, 
A  dolphin's  back  upholds  him, 
While  all  around,  its  comrades  play. 


Anon.  185 

'Tis  only  waves  in  wildest  motion 

Can  wake  the  common  fish  from  sleep, 
But  music  lures  from  deepest  ocean, 
And  makes  the  playful  dolphin  leap. 
'Tis  music  him  entices, 
A  prey  to  mean  devices, 
Of  sportsmen  hunting  on  the  deep. 

Arion's — others  round  him  flocking — 
Begins  now  shoreward  to  advance. 
The  singer  on  his  back,  while  rocking, 
Performs  upon  his  harp  a  dance, 
And  little  waves  upleaping, 
The  lively  measure  keeping, 
Give  gladness  to  the  blue  expanse. 

At  last,  by  aid  divine  directed, 

They  reach  the  ever-famous  shore, 
Where  once  so  wondrously  erected, 
Colossus  stood  in  days  of  yore. 
And  here  as  they  must  sever 
Companionship  forever, 
Arion  strikes  his  harp  once  more. 

"  Oh,  that  I  could  thy  great  devotion 
To  me  repay,  thou  truest  friend  ! 
My  home  's  the  land,  but  thine  's  the  ocean, 
Our  consort,  then,  must  ever  end. 
Here  Galatea  riding. 
And  trustfully  thee  guiding. 
Thou  would'st,  the  billows,  proudly  rend." 


186  Arion. 

On  shore,  Arion  sped  as  lightly 

As  when  through  foreign  lands  he  went, 
Till  Corinth's  towers  rising  brightly, 
New  beauties  to  his  carols  lent. 
By  love  alone  now  hurried, 
His  loss  from  thought,  he  buried, 
With  friend  and  harp  at  last  content. 

He  reaches  home :  "  Wayworn  I've  sought  thee, 

Dear  friend,  within  thine  arms  to  rest." 
He  cries,  "  The  art  Apollo  taught  me 
Has  more  than  satisfied  my  breast. 
True,  thieves  of  wealth  bereft  me, 
And  drowning  even  left  me, 
Yet  am  I  still  of  fame  possessed." 

His  story  having  then  recited, 
Astounded  Periander  cried : 
"  Shall  deed  like  this  go  unrequited. 
And  pow'r  still  with  me  abide  ? 
This  horrid  crime's  disclosure 
Demands  of  thee  composure, 
So  now,  thyseit  and  story  hide." 

No  sooner  had  the  sailors  landed. 

Than  all  were  brought  before  the  king. 
"  What  word,"  lie  asks,  "  are  you  commanded 
By  brave  Arion  here  to  bring  ?  " 
"  We  left  him  well  and  thriving 

And  in  Tarentum  living." 
But  hark !     They  start ;  they  hear  him  sing ! 


Avion.  1 87 


And  now  his  well -shaped  limbs  resplendent 

In  gold  and  purple  he  arrays, 
While  o'er  his  god-like  form  goes  pendent 
A  robe  whose  folds  with  jewels  blaze  ; 
And  dazzling  his  beholders, 
Adown  his  neck  and  shoulders 
His  golden  hair  in  ringlets  plays. 

The  cithern  on  his  bosom  slumbers  ; 

His  right  hand  on  the  strings  he  lays  ; 
The  wretches  fall  beneath  his  numbers, 
And  cry  in  anguish  and  amaze  : 
"To  slay  him  we  intended, 

Apollo  him  defended. 
And  now  his  would-be  slayers  slays!  " 

*'  Arion  lives  !     The  singer  merits 
The  succor  sent  him  from  above. 
I  do  not  call  avenging  spirits. 
Your  blood  could  not  your  sin  remove. 
Go,  brutes  'mid  brutes  to  perish  ! 
Go,  where  you  ne'er  can  cherish 
One  spark  of  faith,  or  hope  or  love! " 


DAMON  AND  PYTHIAS. 


FROM   THE    GERMAN   OF   FRIEDRICK-  VON   SCHILLER. 

To  Dionysius,  Damon  made  his  way, 
His  garment  'round  his  dagger  folding, 
The  guards  him  seize,  the  king  beholding. 
"  What  would 'st  thou  with  this  knife?     Say,  dastard,  say !  " 
Cried  out  the  tyrant,  trembling  with  dismay. 
"  To  end,"  quoth  Damon,  "  thine  oppression." 
"  Then,  caitiff,  die,  on  thy  confession !  " 

"  I  scorn,"  young  Damon  cried,  "  from  death  to  flee. 

My  life,  I  know,  is  at  thy  pleasure. 

But  I  beseech  thee  let  its  measure 
Be  yet  three  days,  and  so  long  set  me  free, 
That  my  poor  sister  I  may  once  more  see. 

A  friend  his  body  will  surrender. 

And  if  I  fail,  his  life  will  tender." 

The  king  looked  'round  him  with  a  wicked  leer, 

Then  spake,  as  if  upon  reflection  : 
"  Go  !  "     Three  days  take,  with  my  protection  ; 
But  keep  thee  well  in  mind  and  keep  with  fear, 
That  if  in  time  thou  failest  to  appear, 

Thy  friend  upon  the  cross  shall  perish, 

But  thee  I'll  pardon,  aye,  and  cherish." 


Damon  and  Pythias.  189 

His  friend  was  brought.     "  The  king,"  now  Damon  cried, 
"  My  death  upon  the  cross  directed 

For  deeds  wherein  I  was  detected, 
Yet  will  he  for  three  days  my  doom  abide, 
That  I  may  see  my  sister  made  a  bride  ; 

So  take  my  place  a  little  season, 

Till  I  can  answer  for  my  treason." 

Him  silently  embraced  this  noble  friend, 

Who  to  his  wish  at  once  assented. 

And  Damon  went  his  way  contented. 
Ere  in  the  east  the  sun  could  thrice  ascend, 
His  holy  mission  had  attain'd  its  end. 

Homeward  he  went,  nor  would  he  tarry, 

Through  fear  his  promise  might  miscarry. 

Alas,  scarce  homeward  turn'd,  down  comes  the  rain. 

And  from  the  hillsides,  streams  go  leaping. 

His  pathway  pitilessly  sweeping. 
And  when  allowed  the  river's  shore  to  gain. 
He  finds  the  bridge  has  braved  the  storm  in  vain — 

Its  arches  by  the  rapids  tumbled. 

And  all  in  hopeless  ruins  crumbled. 

Now  up  and  down  the  shore,  on  either  hand. 

He  runs  and  peers  with  heart  half  broken, 

And  shouts  and  lists  for  friendly  token. 
No  boat,  no  human  being  on  the  strand 
To  help  him  on  the  other  side  to  land  : 

Nought  but  the  tempest's  wild  commotion, 

Nought  but  a  stream  changed  to  an  ocean  1 


190  Damon  and  Pythias. 

Upon  the  shore  he  sinks  in  wild  dismay, 

His  hand  to  Jove  uprais'd  imploring, 
"  Oh  stay,"  he  cries,  "this  stream's  mad  roaring  ! 
The  hours  fly !     Half  ended  is  the  day. 
And  should  night  find  me  here  so  far  away. 
Encompass 'd  by  these  waters  ruthless. 
My  friend  must  die  and  deem  me  truthless." 

With  growing  fury,  on  the  torrent  sweeps, 

Wave  over  wave,  tumultuous  riding  ; 

The  moments  into  hours  gliding, 
Till  anguish  spent,  hope  to  his  bosom  creeps. 
And  in  the  flood,  intrepidly  he  leaps. 

The  waters  'neath  him  plowing  blindly, 

A  God  above  him  watching  kindly. 

On  shore,  now  rescued  from  a  wat'ry  tomb. 
He  kneels  in  thanks,  tho'  sore  and  wounded, 
Alas  to  find  himself  surrounded 
By  robbers  creeping  from  the  forest's  gloom. 
Who,  ere  he  reach'd  the  land,  had  sworn  his  doom, 
Who  rush  upon  him  wildly  singing 
And  o'er  his  head,  their  bludgeons  swinging. 

"  What  seek  you  here?  "  he  shouts,  quick  on  his  feet. 
"  My  life  is  now  my  only  treasure. 

And  this  must  bide  my  monarch's  pleasure  !  " 
A  bludgeon  seizing  then,  as  lightning  fleet, 
"  For  friendship's  sake,"  he  cries,  " thus  you  I  greet!  " 
And  with  three  blows,  he  lays  three  dying, 
And  sends  the  rest  in  terror  flying. 


Damon  and  Pythias.  191 

On  then  he  speeds  ;  but  flamhig  o'er  the  sand, 

Tlie  sun  o'erwhehiis  his  frame  with  anguish, 

And  fearing  that  his  strength  must  languish, 
He  cries  :  "  Hast  saved  me  from  the  robber  band, 
Oh  Jove,  when  from  the  flood  placed  safe  on  land, 

That  to  fatigue  I  must  surrender, 

And  Pythias  life  for  me  must  tender?  " 

But  hark,  what  tinkles  like  a  silver  bell, 

Not  far  away !     He  stops  to  listen. 

When  lo,  amidst  the  foliage  glisten — 
While  dancing  gaily  all  along  the  dell — 
The  waters,  from  a  rock  hard  by,  that  well ! 

Towards  the  stream,  his  footsteps  turning. 

He  drinks  and  bathes  himself  all  burning. 

Aslant,  the  sun  peeps  through  the  tree- tops  high, 

And  on  the  fields  beside  them  stretching. 

Tall  shadows  of  their  forms  is  sketching. 
And  now  two  travelers  on  the  road  close  by. 
He  sees  with  hurried  footsteps  past  him  fly. 

And  hears  one  to  the  other  crying : 
"  By  this  time  on  the  cross  he's  dying!  " 

These  startling  words  recall  him  to  his  feet. 

He  flies  by  goading  fears  incited. 

Till,  by  the  setting  sun  now  lighted. 
The  walls  of  Syracuse  his  vision  greet ; 
And  running  on  the  roadway  him  to  meet 

He  spies  his  slave  who  runs  e'en  faster, 

And  shouts  in  terror  to  his  master: 


192  Damon  and  Pythias. 

"  Back,  back !     Thy  friend  is  doom'd  !     Away,  away! 

To  save  thy  life,  be  now  contented ! 

He  dies,  nor  can  it  be  prevented ! 
With  cheerful  soul  throughout  the  livelong  day, 
He  swore  thou  would'st  return  spite  thy  delay. 

Nor  can  this  confidence  unshaken 

Be  from  him,  e'en  by  death  now  taken !  " 

"  Too  late !     Too  late !     No,  see  him  yet,  I  must ! 

If  not  as  savior  long  awaited, 

At  least,  in  death  to  be  re-mated ! 
A  tyrant  proved  so  wickedly  unjust 
Shall  never  boast  that  friend  no  friend  can  trust ; 

No,  not  one  moment  can  I  falter 

At  dying,  too,  on  friendship's  altar !  " 

The  sun  goes  down  as  through  the  city  gate 
He  bounds,  the  lifted  cross  perceiving. 
With  gaping  crowds  about  it  heaving. 

And  on  the  rope  his  friend  resigned  to  fate. 
"  Hold,  hold  !  "  he  shouts  ;  "  I  am  not  yet  too  late! 
Hold,  hold!     'Tis  mine — this  condemnation! 
Here,  here  I  am  !     Oh  blest  salvation  !  " 

And  to  and  fro,  the  crowds  in  wonder  swing. 
As  o'er  his  friend,  with  lover's  madness. 
He  weeps  and  laughs  in  grief  and  gladness, 
While  shouts  of  praise  throughout  the  welkin  ring, 
And  all  the  tale  is  carried  to  the  king, 
Who,  not  devoid  of  godly  essence. 
Commands  them  straightway  to  his  presence. 


Damon  and  Pythias.  193 

Ashamed,  he  looks  upon  the  twain  and  cries : 
"  I  yield  ;  love  hath  the  vict'ry  wrested, 

And  me  of  pride,  at  last  divested. 
I  see  how  often  virtues  vice  belies, 
And  how,  such  friends,  I  ought  to  win  and  prize, 

Of  friends,  oh  would  you  have  another  ? 

Then  take  me,  too,  as  friend  and  brother !  " 


i 


\ 


13 


I 


FRANCESCA  DA   RIMINI. 


FROM    THE    ITALIAN    OF    DANTE    (iNFERNO,    CANTO   V). 


When  thus  my  teacher  had  the  names  recited 
Of  dames  and  chiefs  who  had  Hfe's  course  completed, 
Grief  fill'd  my  breast  and  every  nerve  seem'd  bhghted. 

"  Oh  gentle  poet,"  I  at  length  entreated, 
"  I  would  address  those  two  far  yonder  riding, 
As  if  upon  a  zephyr  softly  seated." 

He  said  :  "  Thou  slialt  observe  when  hither  gliding. 
They  near  us  come  ;  then  pray  them,  now  so  loving. 
By  that  same  love,  and  they'll  approach  confiding." 

And  presently  the  breeze  to  us  them  moving, 
I  raised  my  voice  :  "  Oh  spirits  grieved  and  tired, 
Gome  now  and  speak  to  us,  naught  disapproving." 

And  then  as  doves,  by  ardent  longings  fired, 
With  flapping  wings  strain  for  the  nest,  dehghted 
By  near  approach,  and  e'en  the  more  inspired. 


Francesca  da  Rimini.  195 

So  from  the  band  which  Dido  held  united, 
Straight  through  the  baneful  atmosphere  now  speeding, 
To  us  they  come,  thus  tenderly  invited. 

"  Oh  mortal  who,  poor  spirits  kindly  heeding, 
Canst  through  this  gloomy  air  accost  us  even. 
Who  with  our  blood  have  left  the  world  all  bleeding, 

"  If  as  a  friend  we  held  the  King  of  Heaven, 
Of  peace  we'd  pray  for  thee  a  boundless  treasure. 
Since  thou  for  us  such  proofs  of  grief  hast  given, 

"  Whate'er  to  hear  and  speak  it  be  thy  pleasure. 
Shall  cheerfully  by  us  be  heard  and  spoken. 
While  now  the  wind  keeps  silence  for  a  measure. 

"  The  town  wherein  of  life  I  first  gave  token, 
Sits  on  the  sea-shore  where  the  Po  descending, 
Finds  with  his  tributaries  peace  unbroken, 

"  Love,  gentle  natures  swiftly  apprehending, 
To  this  man  show'd  that  form  for  love  so  fitted — 
That  form  now  lost  in  mode  still  me  offending. 

"  Love,  that  ne'er  loved-one's  debt  of  love  remitted, 
A  passion  for  this  man  in  me  created. 
Which,  as  thou  seest,  has  not  my  breast  yet  quitted. 

"  Love  to  one  death  consigned  these  forms  ill-fated. 
Our  slayer  shall  in  Caina  meet  correction." 
'Twas  in  these  words,  her  story,  she  related. 


196  Francesea  da  Rimini. 

And  when  I  saw  these  souls  in  such  dejection, 
I  bowed  my  head,  all  speech  within  me  dying, 
Until  the  poet  ask'd  :  "  Is  this  reflection  ?  " 

The  silence  broke,  "  Alas,"  I  said,  replying, 
"  How  many  dreams,  what  potent  yearning 
Led  on  these  lovers  to  a  pass  so  trying  !  " 

And  then  still  more  to  learn,  towards  them  turning, 
I  said :  "  Francesea,  pangs  of  hearts  thus  broken, 
Because  so  great,  with  tears  my  cheeks  are  burning ; 

"  But  in  that  time  of  pleasing  dreams,  what  token, 
I  pray,  was  Love,  at  last,  disposed  to  tender, 
Whereby  your  loving  hearts  became  outspoken  ?  " 

And' she  to  me  :  "  Naught  can  such  "pangs  engender 
As  does  the  mem'ry  of  some  happy  hour 
Midst  woe,  as  well  your  guide  the  proof  can  render. 

"  But  if  to  have  the  root  as  well  as  flower 
Of  this  our  love,  thou  art  so  strongly  pleading, 
I'll  give  of  words  and  tears,  an  equal  shower : 

"  One  day,  for  mere  amusement,  we  were  reading 
Of  Launcelot,  by  love  so  sorely  tested. 
We  were  alone,  no  interruption  heeding. 

"  And  oft  one's  eyes  upon  the  other's  rested, 
That  reading  by ;  and  cheeks  by  love  were  lighted ; 
But  only  once  were  we  of  strength  divested : 


Franeesca  da  Rimini.  197 

"  'Twas  when  we  read  how  lips,  by  love  invited, 
This  fervent  lover's  kisses  warmly  greeted. 
He  who  shall  ne'er  from  me  be  disunited, 

"  Now  wrought  upon,  my  quiv'ring  lips  entreated. 
Our  lives  this  book,  and  he  who  wrote  it  tainted, 
That  day  we  left  its  reading  uncompleted." 

While  now  one  spirit  thus  the  picture  painted. 
The  other  wept  so  that,  by  grief  affected, 
I  seem'd,  as  though  death-smitten,  and  I  fainted 

And  fell  e'en  like  a  corpse,  head-long  projected. 


■^M 


III. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 


HANS  AND  VERENE. 


FROM   THE    ALEMANNIC   OF  J.    P.   HEBEL. 


With  one  alone  I'm  suited  : 
Ah,  how  she  pleases  me ! 
And  if  this  maid  I  could  but  meet 
And  win — she  is  so  passing  sweet, 

So  passing  sweet. 
In  Paradise  I'd  be. 

And  oh  this  maid  so  pleasing, 
How  dearly  would  I  prize  ; 
She's  always  in  such  happy  mood, 
With  cheeks  the  hue  of  milk  and  blood. 

Of  milk  and  blood, 
And  like  two  stars  her  eyes. 

And  when  I  see  her  coming. 
My  brow  is  all  aglow  ; 
My  heart  can  scarcely  keep  its  place  ; 
The  moisture  starts  all  o'er  my  face, 

All  o'er  my  face, 
I  can't  tell  why  'tis  so. 


202  Hans  and  Verene. 

On  Tuesday,  by  the  fountain, 
Her  eyes  upon  me  bent, 
"  Come,  Hans,"  she  said,  "  What  makes  thee  sad  ? 
Has  something  with  thee  turned  out  bad  ? 

Aught  turned  out  bad  ?  " 
I  think  she  something  meant. 


I  should,  of  course,  have  spoken, 
And  told  her  all  my  pain  ; 
Ah  if  more  wealth  I  only  had, 
And  if  my  heart  were  not  so  sad, 

Were  not  so  sad, 
And  she  would  come  again. 


Ah,  well,  I'll  go  and  find  her. 
She's  midst  the  flowers  at  home  ; 
And  all  my  heart  I'll  let  her  see, 
And  if  she  should  not  friendly  be, 

Not  friendly  be, 
A  soldier  I'll  become. 


I'm  but  a  poor,  lone  fellow, 
And  she  is  true,  I  know  ; 
To  others  I  have  done  no  ill  ; 
With  her  I'd  grow  far  better  still. 

Far  better  still. 
With  her  it  must  be  so. 


Hans  and  Verene.  203 

Hist !     Some  one's  in  the  hedge  here  ! 
The  branches  some  one  stirr'd  ; 
Leaf  cannot  rustle  thus  'gainst  leaf : 
God  help  me,  for  'tis  my  belief, 

'Tis  my  belief, 
That  I've  been  overheard. 

"  Oh  Hans  !     I'm  here  !     Thou  hast  me  ! 
If  thou  wilt  make  me  thine. 
I  thought  thou  would'st,  some  time  ago  : 
On  Tuesday,  I  was  sure  'twas  so. 

Was  sure  'twas  so, 
Why  said'st  thou  not :  Be  mine  ?  " 

"  Thou  art  not  rich  in  incomes  ; 
Thou  art  not  rich  in  gold  ; 
But  virtue  more  than  wealth  can  yield. 
And  thou  can'st  bless  both  house  and  field, 

Both  house  and  field. 
And  I  have  love  untold." 

"  Verene  !     Oh  what  hear  I  ? 
And  me  wilt  thou  so  bless  ? 
Saved  am  I  from  a  cruel  fate  ; 
Ere  long  it  would  have  been  too  late  ; 

Not  now  too  late. 
Oh,  will  I  have  thee  ?    Yes." 


GUARDIAN    ANGELS. 


FROM    THE    DANISH    OF   B.    S.    INGEMANN. 


Aye,  every  one, 

Two  angels  wait  upon. 
And  e'er  unseen  close  by  the  shoulders  hover. 

One  on  the  right 

With  never-erring  sight. 
Can  through  the  eye,  the  inmost  soul  discover. 

Each  honest  deed, 

Indites  he  with  all  speed. 
And  each  good  thought  and  pious  word  he  prizes. 

At  night,  his  scroll 

With  gladness  doth  uproll, 
And  with  it  speedily  to  Allah  rises. 

With  equal  zeal, 

All  follies  to  reveal. 
And  every  impious  thought  to  see  collected, 

He  on  the  left 

Is  equally  as  deft, 
To  read  what  from  the  brow  may  be  reflected. 
204 


Guardian  Angels.  205 

What  sins  he  sights, 

He  just  as  quickly  writes, 
But  still  he  keeps  the  book  unseal'd  an  hour. 

On  God  now  call. 

For  oh,  this  angel  all 
Thy  sins  repented  of,  to  blot  hath  pow'r. 

Repent'st  thou  naught 

Of  evil  deed  or  thought, 
And  tearless  are  thine  eyes  at  night,  while  sleeping  ? 

What's  unrepent 

Is  seal'd,  alas,  and  sent, 
But  then  the  angel  on  thy  right  stands  weeping. 


GRANDMOTHER'S  PORTRAIT. 


FROM    THE    FLEMISH   OF    VIRGINIA   LOVELING. 


In  grandmother's  chamber  a  picture  hangs. 

In  childhood's  years  'twas  taken, 
With  laughing  mouth  and  lustrous  eyes, 

And  hair  in  ringlets  shaken. 

The  children  around  it  look  up  and  stare, 

And  ask  among  them  whether, 
They  would  not  like  that  pretty  girl 

To  play  with  them  together. 

With  spectacles  on,  and  from  her  armchair. 
Peeps  up  the  old  grandmother  : 
"  What !     Don't  you  know  that  girl  ?  "  she  asks  ^ 
"  You  play  with  one  another." 


zo6 


MY  GENTLE  FRIEND. 


A   SONNET, 


FROM   THE    PORTUGUESE    OF   CAMOENS. 


Thou  hast,  dear  friend,  a  flight  unlocked  for  taken, 
To  'scape  the  ills  with  which  thou  hast  so  striven, 
And  resting  yonder,  mid  the  joys  of  Heaven, 
Hast  left  me  here  by  doubts  and  terrors  shaken. 

If  there,  where  thine  it  was  in  bliss  to  waken, 
The  mem'ry  of  this  life  to  thee  be  given, 
Recall  the  love  which  my  sad  soul  has  riven, 
The  love  of  one  wlio  deems  himself  forsaken. 

And  should'st  thou  in  this  bleeding  heart  discover 
Some  token,  by  the  grief  therein  excited. 
That  I  am  still  thy  faithful,  stricken  lover, 

Ask  God  who  hath  my  earthly  hopes  thus  blighted. 
To  help  me  just  as  quickly  thee  recover. 
As  thou  and  I,  alas,  were  disunited. 
207 


THE  WATCHMAN'S   CRY 


FROM  THE  ALEMANNIC  OF  J.  P.  HEBEL. 


Oh  listen  all  to  what  I'm  singing, 
While  Ten  the  bell  is  slowly  ringing. 
Now  say  your  prayers  and  go  to  sleep ! 
Who  can  a  quiet  conscience  keep, 
Hath  slumber  soft.     On  heaven's  height 
An  eye  there  is  that  guards  the  night. 

Oh  listen  all  to  what  I'm  singing, 

Eleven  now  the  bell  is  ringing. 
And  him  who  yet  at  labor  sweats. 
Him  who  at  cards  still  plays  and  bets, 
I  ask — nor  will  I  more  entreat — 
To  go  to  bed  that  sleep  be  sweet. 

Oh  listen  all  to  what  I'm  singing, 
While  Twelve  the  bell  is  slowly  ringing. 
If  any  one  in  grief  or  ache, 
At  this  lone  hour  be  awake, 
God  grant  that  rest  for  him  be  found, 
And  that  he  rise  both  glad  and  sound. 

208 


Tlie  Watchmaiis  Cry.  209 

Oh  listen  all  to  what  I'm  singing, 
While  One  the  bell  is  slowly  ringing. 

And  if,  by  Satan  tempted  out, 

A  thief  be  hiding  here  about — 

I  hope  there's  none,  yet  may  there  be — 

Go  home  !     The  Judge  above  can  see  ! 

Oh  listen  all  to  what  I'm  singing, 
While  Two  the  bell  is  slowly  ringing. 

And  thou  whose  heart  before  'tis  day. 

To  care  again  will  fall  a  prey, 

Thou  fool,  this  is  no  time  to  weep  ; 

Care's  now  for  God !     For  thee  is  sleep. 

Oh  listen  all  to  what  I'm  singing. 
While  Three  the  bell  is  slowly  ringing. 

The  darkness  now  begins  to  flee  ; 

Let  him  that  safe  the  day  shall  see. 

Thank  God,  and  with  a  soul  at  rest, 

Go  to  his  work  and  do  his  best. 


TO  THE   MORKERLA. 


FROM    THE    SWABIAN    OF  J.    G.    SCHEIFELE, 


I  know  a  shrub  of  wond'rous  grace  ; 

Two  flowers  only  on  it  rest. 
Of  all  though  in  my  garden's  space, 

This  flourishes  by  far  the  best ; 
And  when  I  search  my  garden  through, 

With  eyes  and  mouth  distended  ; 
And  many  blossoms  meet  my  view, 

There's  none  with  glow  so  splendid. 

Of  nature  rare  this  shrub  must  be, 

That  I  should  love  to  view  it, 
And  that  its  side-long  glance  at  me 

Should  tempt  me  thus  to  woo  it. 
Its  perfume  too !     Indeed,  indeed, 

A  perfume  so  delightful ! 
Alas,  light  frosts  it  wiU  but*  need, 

My  shrub  to  render  frightful. 


To  the  Morkerla.  211 

'Twere  pity  should  there  come  some  day, 

A  storm  to  carry  hither 
The  snow  which  April  flings  at  May, 

To  desecrate  and  wither. 
'Twere  best  to  take  within  my  room 

My  shrub  and  there  defend  it ; 
There  could  it  live  and  gaily  bloom, 

And  there  no  harm  attend  it. 

From  care  then  free,  come  at  your  will, 

Ye  Frosts  that  nip  so  madly ; 
'Twill  stand  upon  my  window  sill, 

And  smile  on  all  so  gladly. 
And  when  its  fragrance  shall  be  gone. 

And  gone  its  leafy  treasure, 
I'll  have  its  stalk  to  look  upon  ; 

E'en  this  will  give  me  pleasure. 


WHAT  GOES  ON  IN  THE  BOSOM. 


FROM    THE    FLEMISH    OF   C.    VERHULST. 


What  goes  on  in  the  bosom, 
The  world  can  never  know. 

There  joy  disputes  and  struggles 
With  yearnings  and  with  woe. 

What  goes  on  in  the  bosom, 
The  winds  cannot  tell  o'er, 

Nor  birds  amid  the  foliage, 

Nor  waves  that  wash  the  shore. 

What  goes  on  in  the  bosom, 
The  life  brings  not  to  sight. 

For  there's  a  veil  about  it 
That  bars  fore'er  the  light. 

What  goes  on  in  the  bosom, 
Oft  breaks  life's  brittle  cord 

Like  reed  which  rushing  tempest 
Uproots  w'thout  a  word. 


TYCHO  BRAKE'S  FAREWELL. 


FROM    THE    DANISH   OF  J.    L.    HEIBERG. 


Hush'd  in  night  was  every  sound. 
Overhead  the  moon  seem'd  soaring, 
Streams  of  light  o'er  Zealand  pouring — 

Streams  that  hills  and  woodlands  found. 

O'er  Uranieburg'''  from  high, 
Stars  in  merry  mood  were  beaming, 
Tycho,  heedless  of  them  seeming, 
Stood  and  gazed  like  one  half- dreaming, 

Stood  and  gazed  and  heaved  a  sigh. 


"  Tell,"  he  said,  "  Oh,  Fatherland ! 
Tell  me  what  has  been  my  treason  ; 
Tell  me.  Fatherland,  the  reason 

I  must  quit  thy  hallow'd  strand  ! 

Has  my  love  been  all  in  vain  ? 
Sought  I  not  to  raise  thy  glory 
To  the  stars  in  deathless  story  ? 
Will  not  all  the  Heavens  o'er  me 

Swear  I've  lived  but  for  thy  gain? 
213 


214  Tycko  Brake's  Farewell. 

"  My  Chaldea  thee  I  found. 
Ah,  I  love  thy  fields,  so  even, 
Where  the  nights  seem  made  for  heaven, 

And  the  skies,  a  pleasure  ground. 

Oh,  for  thee  my  love  is  fire  ! 
Ne'er,  oh  ne'er  would  1  forsake  thee. 
Keep  me  then  as  thou  didst  take  me  ; 
I  a  temple  e'er  would  make  thee, 

For  yon  brilliant  starry  choir ! 

"  Must  Urania  for  her  friend, 
Now  another  land  discover. 
Where  to  die,  her  ardent  lover, 

I  my  way  must  sadly  wend  ? 

Ah,  I  know  not  what  the  shore. 
Stars  will  still  my  path  enliven 
And  no  matter  where  I'm  driven. 
Everywhere  there  is  a  heaven. 

And,  indeed,  what  need  I  more  ?  " 


*  The  castle  of  Uranienburg,  on  the  Island  of  Hween,  was  erected  as  an  astronomi- 
cal observatory,  and  presented  to  Tycho  by  Frederic  II,  King  of  Denmark.  Charles  IV, 
successor  of  Frederic,  became  imbittered  against  Tycho,  stopped  his  pension  and  vir- 
tually drove  him  from  his  country. 


FORTUNE  AND  TIME. 


FROM    THE   GERMAN    OF   CARL    KNORTZ. 

Endless  are  the  lamentations 
Born  of  Fortune's  fickle  grace  ; 

Springing  from  the  thought  that  life  seems 
Only  of  a  moment's  space. 

Thine's  the  fault  when  but  an  instant 
Gladness  lends  thy  life  its  light, 

For,  to  capture  Time  and  Fortune, 
Every  being  hath  the  might. 

Every  day  and  every  hour, 
Duties  newly  found  are  thine. 

Have  a  heart  that  with  thy  fellow's, 
Beats  in  sympathy  divine. 

Every  good  deed  lives  forever  ; 

Bringing  joy  and  grateful  rest, 
If  not  to  the  hearts  of  others, 

Always  to  the  doer's  breast. 

He  is  happy  who  such  treasures 

Strives  to  gather  far  and  near. 
And  to  him  the  times  long  gone  by 

In  the  future  will  appear. 
215 


DE  TEMPORUM  MUTABILITATE. 


FROM   THE    LATIN    OF   SENECA, 


Voracious  Time  craves  all ;  on  all  things  lays  his  hand  ; 

All  things  unseats,  and  grants  to  nothing  rest. 
Broad  rivers  disappear  ;  seas  leave  the  parching  land, 

And  mountains  sink  ;  and  falls  each  lofty  crest. 
Such  toys  why  sing  ?     The  heavens  whose  grandeur  move  our  awe, 

In  flames  shall  some  day  wrap  themselves  and  flee. 
All  things  Death  claims  :  To  perish  is  not  doom,  bat  law  ; 

And  earth  itself  shall  cease  at  length  to  be. 


216 


ROSES  AND  THORNS. 


A   SONG    OF    MIRZA   SCHAFFY. 


FROM    THE    GERMAN    OF   F.    N.    VON   BODENSTEDT. 


My  neighbor  has  a  wife  I  find, 
With  well-gear'd  tongue  and  ill-gear'd  mind. 
She  scolds  aU  day  about  the  house, 
And  gives  no  peace  to  man  or  mouse. 
Whene'er  a  word  her  husband  utters. 
She  fumes  and  rages,  spits  and  sputters, 
And  he,  poor  fellow,  e'er  keeps  still, 
For  fight  he  wont,  though  fight  she  will. 


Good  men  oft  show  themselves  offended. 

No  lover  can  be  always  kissing. 
Sweet  roses  are  by  thorns  attended  ; 

But  thorns  are  plagues,  the  roses  missing. 


EPITAPH  ON  WILLIAM  LANGEY* 


FROM   THE   LATIN   OF   THEODOCIUS   BEZA. 


Here,  reader,  noble  Langey  peaceful  lies, 
To  Mars  and  Pallas  bound  by  equal  ties  ; 
In  peace  or  war,  none  better  lived  than  he  ; 
His  life  you  know,  and  how  he  died  now  see : 
Through  ceaseless  toils  he  parted  with  his  health, 
And  in  the  cause  of  France,  his  lordly  wealth 
With  such  unsparing  hand  he  e'er  bestowed. 
That,  dying,  more  than  Miles  or  Dentalus  owed. 
He  died  in  poverty,  you'll  say  ;  and  yet, 
He's  rich  to  whom  his  country  is  in  debt. 


*  Guillaume  du  Bellay  Seigneur  de  Langey  died  in  France.  A.  D.  1543.     On  his 
tombstone  is  the  following  epitaph  : 

"  Ci  git  Langey  qui  de  plume  et  d'epee 
A  Surmonte  Ciceron  et  Pompee." 

2l3 


LEARNED   IGNORANCE. 


PROM   THE    LATIN    OF   HUGO    GROTIUS. 


Who,  curious,  undertakes  all  things  to  span. 

By  dint  of  labor  all  his  own,  nor  can 

A  limit  to  his  mental  pow'rs  admit, 

A  poor  judge  makes — a  valuer  unlit 

Of  self  and  nature  ;  for  the  God  o'er  all 

Would  have  us  wonder  much,  with  knowledge  small. 

And  touch  alone  what  in  our  way  is  set. 

This  primal  error  leads  to  greater  yet, 

For  he  who  lack  of  knowledge  will  deny. 

Himself  with  fallacy  must  satisfy. 

The  mind  that's  most  at  ease,  will  err  the  least, 

Content  on  knowledge  smoothly  earned  to  feast ; 

Nor  will  it  seach  for  that  which  searching  flies. 

Not  knowing  some  things,  ofttimes  is  most  wise. 


219 


TO  M.  LOUIS  RACINE. 


FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  VOLTAIRE. 


In  your  didactic  verses,  Racine,  you  have  caught 
The  savage  doctrines  by  your  sage  Jansenius  taught. 
I  oft  admire  you,  true,  but  naught  you  say  beheve  ; 
And  if  your  style  dehghts,  your  God  I  can't  receive  : 
A  tyrant,  Him  you've  call'd  ;  a  father,  Him  I've  made  ; 
Your  worship  is  enforced  ;  my  homage  freely  paid ; 
And  more  than  you,  the  value  of  his  blood  I  own  : 
You  serve  him  as  a  slave ;  I  love  him  as  a  son. 
Believe  me  now :  such  doctrines  from  your  mind  efface. 
Conceive  we  God  alone,  when  we  conceive  his  grace. 
Our  minds  then  let  us  yield,  our  hearts  to  him  prefer, 
And  let  us  Christians  be,  and  no  more  doctors,  sir. 


EQUALIZING  ALL  THINGS. 

A   SONG   OF   MIRZA   SCHAFFY. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  F.  N.  VON  BODENSTEDT. 

"  The  lack  of  equal  chance  to  all, 

Explains  full  oft  life's  bitter  sequel. 
How  well  would  everything  befall, 
If  great  and  small  were  only  equal !  " 

'Twas  thus  the  grumbler  wisdom  vaunted. 

All  things  for  him,  are  fashioned  wrong. 
The  eagle  by  the  gnat  is  taunted, 

The  gnat  not  having  wings  so  long. 
Like  dwarfs,  so  giants  should  be  small, 
And  dwarfs,  like  giants  should  be  tall. 

God's  works  we  might  improve  by  putting 
All  things  upon  an  equal  footing: 
Let  mountains  to  the  vales  be  graded. 
And  vales  no  more  by  mountains  shaded. 

All  that  is  great  let's  have  diminished, 
Nor  let  the  work  be  held  as  finished, 
Till  sense  and  nonsense  shall  be  blended. 
And  gems  to  pebbles  have  descended  ; 
And  when  all  this  shall  come  to  be, 
Call  me,  I  pray,  the  change  to  see. 


221 


THE  BUTTERFLY  AND  THE  BEE. 


FROM    THE   GERMAN    OF   G.    REINBECK. 


A  butterfly  on  wings  extended, 

Was  in  a  garden  flirting  round  about, 

When  in  a  rose  lie  spied  half  buried, 
A  bee  thence  drawing  nectar  out. 

He  laughed  and  ask'd  :  "  Pray,  wherefore  tarry 
So  endlessly,  a  single  flower  to  taste  ? 

Kiss  all  in  turn,  and  like  me  gaily 
To  other  blossoms  then  make  haste." 

"  And,  pray,  what  gain  you  by  such  trifling  ? 

What  gather  you  in  store,  while  thus  you  roam  ! 
And  saying  this,  the  bee  rose  humming, 
And  honey-laden'd  flew  straight  home. 


THE  SWAN  AND  THE  SPARROW. 


FROM    THE    GERMAN    OF  JOHN    KLENERT. 


A  swan  while  swimming  once  in  all  his  pride, 

Was  by  a  sparrow  in  the  rushes  spied, 

Who  straightway  all  his  jealous  thoughts  let  loose, 

And  twenty  times  called  out :  "  There  goes  a  goose  !  " 

The  swan  no  answer  to  him  deign'd  to  make. 

But  gravely  steer'd  his  way  across  the  lake. 

Nor  did  the  insult  injure  him  one  pin  : 

He  still  remained  the  swan  that  he  had  been. 


223 


SOLOMON  AND  THE  SOWER 


FROM   THE    GERMAN    OF    F.    RUCKERT. 


King  Solomon,  that  monarch  wise, 
Once  casting  o'er  a  field  his  eyes. 
Observed  a  farmer  slowly  going 
Among  the  rocks,  his  barley  sowing. 

"  What  are  you  at?  "  the  King  cries  out ; 

"  That  field  will  never  yield  a  sprout. 
Of  sense,  pray,  do  not  show  such  lack,  sir, 
Your  seed  you'll  nevermore  get  back,  sir." 

The  farmer  to  a  pause  now  brought. 
Uncertain  stood  a  while  and  thought ; 
Then  started  on,  the  seed  forth-heaving, 
While  to  the  Monarch  answer  giving : 

"  I've  nothing  but  this  field  alone ; 
Iv'e  plowed  it  oft  and  often  sown  ; 
Why  should  I  harbor  doubts  distressing  ? 
From  me, the  seed,  from  God,  the  blessing." 
224 


IDLENESS. 


FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  VOLTAIRE. 


Let  Idleness  be  better  understood ; 

It  may  be  evil,  or  it  may  be  good. 

With  riches,  'tis  a  pearl  of  price ; 

With  poverty,  a  monstrous  vice. 
In  winter-time  of  life,  one  may  in  peace  enjoy 
The  fruits  which  did  in  Spring-time  all  his  strength  employ. 
To  soldiers,  bards,  and  all  who  seek  to  be  renown'd. 
Rest  is  allow'd,  but  only  on  their  laurels  found. 


16  225 


AN  ANGEL. 


FROM   THE   FLEMISH   OF   H.    PEETERS. 


I  have  a  little  Prayer-book, 

With  pictures  through  and  through, 
It  has  Morocco  covers 

So  finely  gilded,  too. 
God-mother  wish'd  to  teach  me, 

And  so  this  book  she  got, 
Which,  though  I've  had  five  summers, 

Is  without  scratch  or  blot. 


No  pictures  half  so  lovely 

Can  anywhere  be  found. 
And  gold  and  silver  borders 

These  pictures  all  surround. 
Of  one  among  them  chiefly, 

The  colors  much  I  prize ; 
It  is  a  praying  angel, 

That  has  such  sparkling  eyes. 
226 


An  Angel.  227 


My  playmates,  when  they  look  at 
This  angel's  curly  hair : 
"  'Tis  just  like  that  of  Charley, 
The  Miller !  "  they  declare  ; 
*'  The  Miller  who  last  summer, 
At  eve  the  fancy  took, 
To  tell  us  that  sweet  story, 
Down  there  beside  the  brook." 

On  Sundays,  when  the  churcli  bell 

Through  all  the  valley  rings, 
I  go  to  church  where  Charley, 

The  sweetest  singer,  sings. 
And  when  I  read  my  Prayer-book, 

And  to  the  angel  come, 
I  can't  turn  any  further. 

And,  all  at  once,  I'm  dumb. 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 


FROM   THE    PORTUGUESE    OF   ALMEIDA   GARRETT. 


Like  thee  she  was,  that  vision  fair ; 
Like  thine  her  form,  hke  thine  her  hair'; 

In  beauty  just  like  thine  she  beam'd, 
That  vision  which  my  pathway  cross'd, 

When  long  ago  of  love  I  dream' d, 
And  when  in  dreams  myself  I  lost. 

Like  thine,  like  thine,  that  noble  mien. 
Those  looks,  those  actions,  so  serene. 

That  quiet  smile  which  ever  lent 
Her  being  such  a  mellow  tone. 
And  which  like  veil,  all  o'er  her  thrown, 

A  softer  beauty  to  her  sent. 

Like  thine  her  plain  and  honest  speech — 
Which  all  could  please  and  all  could  reach- 

A  potency  divine  possess'd 
To  pierce — aye,  pierce,  but  not  excite — 
It  was  not  flame,  but  purest  light. 

And  found  the  very  inmost  breast. 

£28 


Disappointment,  flS) 

Like  thine  her  eyes  resplendent  shone  ; 
The  perfume  of  her  breath  thine  own — 

The  roses'  perfume — roses  twined 
With  daisies  soft — those  roses  fair — 
Those  roses  white — that  perfume  rare, 

A  thousand,  thousand  times  refined ! 

But  'tis  not  thou  !     Ah,  'tis  not  thou ! 
Dispelled  is  that  illusioij  now ! 

Not  thou  that  once  upon  me  beam'd, 
Not  thou,  that  vision  I  beheld — 
That  vision  which  my  heart  so  swell'd, 

Ah  'tis  not  thou  o'er  whom  I  dream'd ! 


SOLOMON,  THE  POET  KING. 


FROM   THE   FLEMISH   OF  JULIUS   VUYLSTEKE. 


Solomon  in  song  excelling, 
Lodg'd  within  his  royal  dwelling, 
Wives  a  thousand — all  his  own. 

Wives  a  thousand,  says  the  story. 
Still  his  wisdom  was  his  glory, 
For  he  loved  but  one  alone. 

One  alone  with  charms  transcendent, 
One — a  host  in  arms  resplendent,* 
One  alone — the  Shulamite. 

For  the  others,  found  he  pleasures. 

Kisses,  gold,  and  richest  treasures  ; 

Songs  for  her  alone  could  write. 


*Flemish. — "  Schriklijke  als  een  legerschare." 
Latin. — "  Terribilis  ut  Castrorum  acies  ordinata." 
English. — "  Terrible  as  an  army  with  banners." 

230 


WHAT  WOULDST  THOU  MORE? 


FROM    THE    GERMAN    OF   H.    HEINE. 


Of  pearls  and  diamonds  hast  thou  ; 

Hast  all  one  could  implore ; 
Hast  eyes  that  shine  the  brightest. 

Sweet  maid,  what  wouldst  thou  more  ? 

Upon  those  eyes  the  brightest, 

Have  I  a  hundred  score 
Of  choicest  ditties  written. 

Sweet  maid,  what  wouldst  thou  more  ? 

And  with  thine  eyes,  the  brightest, 
Hast  thou  my  soul  made  sore. 

And  to  perdition  brought  me. 

Sweet  maid,  what  wouldst  thou  more  ? 


23X 


HYMN  TO  LOVE. 

FROM    THE    SPANISH    OF   LOPE    DE    VEGA. 

Love  all  potential,  earth  and  heaven  ruling, 
Causing  sweet  warfare  'twixt  our  various  feelings  ; 
Oh,  there  be  many  robb'd  of  life's  sweet  flower. 
When  in  thy  power ! 

Pleasures  but  transient,  foolish  occupations, 
Burning  desires,  terrors  overwhelming. 
Joyful  commotions,  cheats  accepted  gaily, 

Come  fi-om  thee  daily. 

Tyrant  so  cruel  t'wards  the  tender  aged. 
Holding  out  blessings,  giving  only  evils. 
Leading  thy  victims,  lured  by  short-lived  gladness. 
Great  is  thy  madness ! 

Fly  his  deceptions  ;  firmly  make  resistance 
'Gainst  his  enchantments,  0  inveigled  lovers ! 
Aye,  'tis  a  serpent  lurking  'mid  the  roses,    . 
What  he  proposes. 

Love  that  is  Heav'n-born,  gentle  in  behavior. 
Ne'er  employs  arrows  bearing  with  them  poison. 
Virtues  his  own,  in  songs  of  praise  we'll  treasure, 
Sapphic  in  measure. 
232 


"TO  MEET  AGAIN!  " 

FROM    THE    GERMAN    OF    E.    VON    FEUCHTERSI.EBEN. 

It  is  declared  as  God's  behest, 

That  man,  whate'er  he  loves  the  best, 

Must  part  with. 
And  yet  in  life  no  pain's  so  great 
As  that,  the  dear  ones,  'tis  our  fate 

To  part  with,  aye,  part  with. 

To  thee  is  sent  a  rose-bud  rare  ; 
In  water  is  it  placed  with  care  ; 

But  mark  now  : 
At  morn  it  blooms  a  gorgeous  rose  : 
At  night  its  beauty  fades  and  goes. 

This  mark  now,  aye,  mark  now. 

God  has  on  thee  bestowed  a  love  ; 
Her  boldest  thou,  all  else  above. 

Thine  own  for  : 
A  coffin  comes  within  thy  hall  ; 
Therein,  how  soon   thou  lay'st  thine  all ! 
Now  moan  for,  aye,  moan  for. 

My  meaning,  sure,  is  very  plain  ; 

Aye,  very  plain  : 
When  men  e'er  part — in  joy  or  pain — 
E'en  let  them  say  :  "  To  meet  again !  " 

Aye,  meet  again. 
233 


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